Lesbian Dad

Wee missive

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That would be DEAR, by the way, not OEAQ, as you might be tempted to read.  And FEEL your tummy, not PEEL.  Last two words taken as dictation by kindly preschool staff.  Likewise the fancy trim.

Tummy feeling having developed as a luxury on the order of a spa visit, during her little brother’s gestation.  [See Figs. A & B.]  Now, with the baby long since on the outside, “Mama belly” is the place to return for comfort.  

(And here we thought it would revert to the neutral space it was before, all the lovey dovey transferred to the baby.  Well, the baby got the lovey dovey, but a bunch still stayed with the belly.)

Life getting you down?  Find the Mama belly, scrinch up the shirt, wiggle in a knotted up little fist, then open its flower petal fingers up into a little spray on the surface, soft as calfskin.  Swirl around as needed. Does the trick every time.

If only us grown-ups could cultivate something so reliable.

 


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