I love the name Mom. It’s absolutely perfect.

     There are several reasons, but the clearest one is, that’s the name she’s been given. The woman who’s my world, the woman I love until I fall asleep. She takes such good care of me. Imagine a 10 star hotel. You get what you want and need without even having to word it. She’s always there for me, through pooping days and screaming nights. Her words comes out from true love and I love to hear the sound of her beating heart whenever she places me against her chest, holding me in her sweet, protecting embrace. 

     But. . . there is one thing. 

     His name is Dad. And I do not like him. 

     Your first thought might be why, naturally. Let me explain my reasoning though. 

     He always tries to steal me away from Mom, or the other way around. I get so poopedy mad just thinking about it. It’s been like that ever since I came into the world four weeks ago. And I still haven’t come up with a good explanation to this awful phenomena. What makes me even madder is that Mom allows it! 

     But then again, she’s Mom. . . I can’t stay mad at her. Call me Mom’s boy if you want. Just don’t forget, that’s what I am. Literally.

     Anyways, back to the story. 

     I was with Mom on the couch in the living room. I was lying on the cushion while Mom lied next to me, leaning her head against her arm while joking around with me.  Her smile. . . I love it. It’s divine, a piece of heaven. We were having a perfect time together, just me and her. 

     Then comes Dad.