The Good Pillow

The Good PillowThe Pickle gets the good pillow.

You know that one?  The one that is just right.  Not too soft.  Not too firm.  Cradles your head comfortably when you sleep, but doesn’t suffocate you or make the side of your face hurt come morning?  Yeah… the Pickle has that one.

I’m not sure how it happened, exactly.  We had gone to Kansas about a year ago and Grandma had put a pillow in her Packnplay.  She just looked so cute in there, laying her head on a pillow like a big girl, that when we got home I thought she had to have one.  So I gave her… that one.  The good one.

Maybe I felt her little toddler head needed a good, soft, not too hard, not too big, just right pillow to lay on at night like such a big girl.  But however it happened, I gave her that one.  And every night when I go through half a dozen pillows to find the one that is the least uncomfortable, I think about her in there laying all daintily on her pillow with her blanket still gently grasped between her pink little fingers.  And I sleep fine.

We do that, you know.  We moms and dads.

We give them the best pillow.  The fuzziest, cleanest blanket.  The cookie with the most chocolate chips.  We let them sit in our ‘spot’ on the couch if they want.  We pick the carrots out of our chicken pot pie and the cherries out of our fruit salad.

The other night we ate fried rice and she was particularly fond of the bits of egg she helped me toss in there.  So what did I do?  I dug through my bowl and found her all the pieces of egg.

Last time we had Chinese, I gave her my water chestnuts.  That’s a big deal.  Water chestnuts are my favorite (I don’t really know what they are, but they’re my favorite).  Apparently they were her favorite that night, too, so I shared.

And I share my water.

And I share my popcorn.

And I share my blanket.

And I share my pillow.

And I share my time.

And my arms.

And my peace and quiet.

And my personal space.

And my kisses.

What a joy to have a little life to share all my best with.

And while I may never get her best back in return, it doesn’t really matter.  Because on precious, rare occasions I give her the last bite of cake and she looks at me with those big blue eyes, cocks her head slightly to one side, smiles big and says, “Thank you, Mommy.  I love you, Mommy.”

That’s the best I could ever want.

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