Mother’s Day Gifts from My Toddler
A hand-picked flower, crushed and sweaty.
A deeply insulting drawing of me that I can never throw away.
A tender little kiss, directly on my eyeball, at 5:30 A.M.
Two dark bags under my eyes that she poked while saying, “Boo-boo.”
A crack in my phone screen.
A crack in my iPad screen.
A crack in my coffee table.
A cracker in my pillowcase.
Tendinitis.
A now-rancid splash of milk somehow distributed evenly inside all of the seat-belt-buckle crevices in my car.
My keys, dunked in the toilet.
The credit card that I’d already cancelled because I’d thought I lost it, but really it was just in a toy frying pan under a plastic slice of pie.
The complete contents of my bedside table scattered across the living room, bathroom, and kitchen.
The “CoComelon” dad’s scary eyes and teeth in all my nightmares.
A stick, four old cigarette butts, two bottle caps, a dog-poop bag (empty), an open bottle of bubbles (full), some other kid’s “Paw Patrol” scooter, and a rusty nail, all gifted unwillingly at the playground.
Incalculable, all-consuming, primordial love.
A partially chewed bite of a seven-dollar muffin, sneezed directly into my mouth.