Eggs

Rowan, as he often does, climbed into bed with me this morning to cuddle. We lay there quietly for a while, me dozing, him singing songs and chatting to himself under his breath (“Clair is my BABYsitter. Clair is my babySITTER. Clair is MY babysitter…”) as he tossed and turned and generally wound his body over and around me and the bed. We did that for about twenty minutes, until he finally turned to face me. He gazed deep into my eyes, took my face gently between his two little hands, regarded me solemnly for a minute or two, and whispered, “What I have in my lunch today?”