Love, Your Cardboard box


“Where’s your Father?” I ask him, slightly tilting my own head in anticipation of hid head tilt.

Our sweet boy looks at Karan and then goes bounding toward his father like a ball gaining momentum on stairs. If there is a ball or a favorite toy in the path from starting point to Father, an abrupt stop is made to take it along as a precious offering of love, or to just say “Throw the ball for me please!”.

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Father and Son.

Kahlua has always been good at recognizing his “people”. He knew to turn to Nandu, my roommate and sister, his other mother, back in Tallahassee when asked “Where’s Nandu?”, but never without a head tilt.

He knew “Michelle”.

He knows “Lisa”, our car.

He knows “Piggy”, his now mute Green Pig that brings him immense joy. He knows every ball, every toy and his “Throne.”

But ironically, he does not know his “Mother”. It is actually very comical. The one human being who has been a constant hovering annoyance in his life ever since he could learn to reason, he does not know.

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I don’t know my “Mother”.

What’s even funnier is he recently learned that his “Mother” is a cardboard box.

Karan sat him down and asked him repeatedly, “Where’s your Mother?”. After about the second or third time with me anxiously standing by, hoping for a big bounding ball of love to come my way; our child lifted his front right paw, and placed it confidently on a cardboard box.

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“Mother?”

 

Oxytocin flooded my bloodstream anyway, and I laughed. I hugged and kissed our child which is my reaction to just about anything he does anyway.I know he knows I am his mom, but it is very funny that his “Mother” is a cardboard box.

And I know that he knows that his cardboard box and his “Father” will always love him, take care of his every need, brush his teeth, feed him, pick him up when he is too scared to walk, tickle him, give him belly rubs, take him to the vet, and do everything do give him a full, happy, loving life.

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