Yesterday, I had an endoscopy. My appointment arrives annually. Much like my birthday. Unlike my birthday, I don’t spend my time stuffing myself with cake and slurping down glasses of wine. But on the up side, I do get to have a sleep during the day…
I’ve returned from my medical journey full of hot air. Meaning big bear hugs with mummy aren’t quite on the cards yet. That’s insufferable for my five-year old daughter, Akasha. Only yesterday, pre-procedure, she almost squeezed me to death whilst sitting on my lap as her elder sister, Lori, carefully pleated my hair.
Last week her ferocious cuddling almost toppled me off the toilet.
And last year, her enthusiasm did actually see my bottom splat onto the floor, with full force, as she unseated me, publicly, from a chair in a local furniture store.
So this morning, as she climbed into my bed in an effort to wake me up, with all those knees and elbows and those extraordinarily strong arms, I felt a little apprehensive.
I warned her, “Mummy has a tender tummy!” And then I repositioned us as spooners.
Then I melted all over my pillow, like butter would run across the desert sand, as she said:
“But Mama, now I can’t see your beautiful face!”
I turned to respond to ‘her sweetness’, eyes-a-glistening. Ready to embrace.
To be reproached with, “Ooh!! Stinky!!”
That’ll be the morning breath.