So what would have me out walking the apartment complex on a sleepy Sunday morning.....
"Sam" said in a whispering tone but not a whispering decibel level, "Yets go look for the ducks".
"No I can't I'm in my jammies" I protest
"It's okay I am too, no one will see us" again with the implication of whispering but not really whispering at all.
Screen and heart open I emerged from my apartment and did something I have not in as many years as I can remember, walked around outside, in the daylight. My aging breasts not lifted and supported, my face naked, hair still wild from its snuggle with the pillow. Me unpainted, unprotected...sans everything but my absolute adoration for a tiny, big voiced kid in jammies with puppies on them holding a piece of bread to feed the ducks.
We walked, talked, stuck our feet in the still wet grass and made footprints on the pavement. Weaving our way through the complex his voice booming and leading the way as we passed others out exploring on a Sunday morning....in our jammies and pillow hair. Only for him, only with him would I do this. Only because of him do I feel so safe, so adored, so comfortable without my layer of protection....my little bits of armor. Destroyed, any little bit of badass reputation that remained was destroyed by a four year old in puppy jammies.