Here am I, fully grown and undignified in the wet grass, tipping over under the weight of my giggling toddler, my bare white legs and arms blotched with pink bug bites and futile scratch marks, muddy puppy pawprints on my shorts and skin, and now wet handprints of dew-drenched boy clambering up so he can haul me down to ant-level.
YOOK!
The puppy returns from a brief trek to fetch a pink squeaky toy, chewing and growling:
PLAY! THROW!
I wrestle the pink plush toy from puppy's intimidating jaws while saying to my son,
YES, I am YOUR Mommy, not his.
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