I was nervous I’ll admit. He’s been peppering his conversation with declarations of “luv woo mammeeee” accompanied by slobbery kisses for a couple of months now. Sometimes he’ll lick my face too, if he’s got more love (read: drool) to give. After he sidled up to me at lunchtime while I flicked though the weekend paper and called me pretty girl, I knew the time was right to pop the question.
In truth, I was flicking through a Brown Thomas advertorial when he clambered on my lap, pointed at the page and said “pretty girl”. Then he turned to me, adhered a sticky digit to my cheek and repeated it. Reader, I have had 2 showers this week. I have washed my hair once. I am wearing yoga pants. (Justification for all of the above: knee surgery & subsequent stitches) If I could elicit such a reaction, looking as I do, then I knew that this was the guy for me.
I asked. Carefully situating my question: after the picking out of the stories but before settling down to read them. He said yes! Is there anything as ferociously delightful as a two year old agreeing to be your boyfriend for the first time?
But wait! Aren’t I forgetting about something? Someone? Yes. Player One. First Born. Upon hearing my request that his small brother please be my boyfriend, he looked down upon me from where he teetered on the end his bed reaching for a toy, six shelves up: “Mammy! I’m your boyfriend!”
Quickly I moved to correct this perceived slight: “I know, love. You are now Boyfriend One. And this (gestures dramatically to small child in Cookie Monster pyjamas) is Boyfriend Two.”