his moan. “We’re not alone.”
The reminder pours over him like an icy bucket of cold water, signaling his retreat. My disappointment at the loss of his prodding erection is entirely irrational. To touch him at all was flirting with fire, but the man has a way of making me want to dive headfirst into the flames and savor the burn.
When he disappears into the bathroom to deal with his situation, I slip from the bed, creeping into Prissy’s nook to sit on the edge of the mattress. I take a quiet moment to reflect as I watch her sleep. It’s incomprehensible to me that my baby is already seven years old. It seems like only yesterday I was faced with that positive pregnancy test, while practically still a kid myself. At the time that little plus sign felt like the end of the world. Now I know it was merely the beginning. Despite being young, I can honestly say that not once have I regretted my choice to keep her. When I look back on the years of joy this little girl has brought to my life, I know without question that Prissy’s existence was no mistake. She’s my greatest accomplishment. My pride and joy. My legacy.
“Happy Birthday, Priss.” I stroke her wild hair back with my fingers and she stirs. Grunts. But makes no attempt to open her eyes.
“Prissy,” I say, a little louder. “Rise and shine, birthday girl!” When she still doesn’t budge, I go for the heavy artillery and dig my pointers into her sides, tickling her until she’s writhing around swatting and kicking in hopes to make me stop.
“Fine!” she laughs. “I’m up! I’m up!”
“That’s more like it.” I bend to retrieve the notebook from the floor beside me. “Because it’s time for your interview.”
The birthday journal is something I read about online during my pregnancy and started when she turned one. For the first two years, I answered on her behalf, but since the age of three the words have come straight from the horse’s mouth. It’s a lot of fun to look back at her answers throughout the years, something I know we’ll both cherish more and more as she gets older.
“You brought it?” With a wide smile, she scoots herself up to sitting, roughly pushing her tangles away from her face.
“Of course I did.”
“Okay,” she says, folding her hands and placing them in her lap, all proper-like. “I’m ready.”
“Question number one,” I say, tapping my pen on the pad. “What was your favorite book this year?”
“That’s easy,” she says. “The Fudge books by Judy Blume.”
Of course, I think, jotting it down. She’s only had me read the entire series three times. The girl is obsessed with Fudge and his antics. He probably reminds her of her naughty little self.
“Perfect,” I say, moving on to the next. “What was your favorite movie?”
“Chucky!”
“Which one?”
“Umm,” she places a finger on her chin, tapping it lightly. “All of them.”
Again…no surprise. With a shake of my head, I scrawl her answer on the page. “Who is your best friend?”
She chews her lip and begins to rock back and forth. “Don’t get mad, okay?”
“Why would I get mad?”
Her shoulders tense as she brings them to her ears before dropping them back down with a huff. “Okay…” She covers her face with her hands, so she won’t have to witness my reaction. I half expect her to tell me she befriended a murderer by how crazy she’s acting. “It’s Wyatt.” Her answer escapes as a high-pitched squeak.
Is that all? “Wyatt’s a great choice.” I’m touched that she was afraid to hurt my feelings in choosing someone other than me. In all honesty, I’m relieved. It warms my heart to know that she’s forged such a solid bond with someone other than myself or her Paw. The fact that I, too, have a very deep connection with her new bestie also, serves to soften the blow. The more she loves him, the freer I feel to allow myself to do the same.
I blow out a deep breath when I come to the next one, because unlike with most children, the answer never changes. Asking is simply a formality. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
She squints her little eyes at me. “A mortician, duh!”
Duh, indeed. My little girl has never dreamed of being anything else. Not a princess or a teacher. She’s never wanted to be a cashier or flip burgers at McDonald’s. Nope. Unlike myself, who wanted