My boy. He sleeps in the swing, and I slowly sip lukewarm coffee that I've let cool too long. The music from the mobile plays for a third time and finally his heavy eyelids fall. I sit on the couch, a small smile creeping on my face. I can't help it.
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Simple Saturdays (An Essay)
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My boy. He sleeps in the swing, and I slowly sip lukewarm coffee that I've let cool too long. The music from the mobile plays for a third time and finally his heavy eyelids fall. I sit on the couch, a small smile creeping on my face. I can't help it.