The book was Made for
Me by Zack Bush. He sat on the rug in front of their bunk bed. The baby
padded over in her monkey-printed footie pajamas and climbed into his lap. The
older three, each clad in a different version of mismatched pajamas, squeezed
in tight together to see the pictures as Daddy read the bedtime book.
“You were made for me,” he read again and again.
And goodness, weren’t they?
They were made for him. They were made for me.
Look at that guy.
The daddy of my dreams. The daddy of their dreams.
He fights lightsaber battles and reads bedtime books,
carries them up and down hiking trails and slices up apples for them. He kisses
their heads and he zips up their coats, prays for their invisible owies and
reminds them to use their words when they’re upset. He loves to see what they
did for homeschool each day, he makes up fun stories, and he whispers in the
dark to me about how funny and smart and creative they all are.
He was made for them and they were made for him.
And it was good.
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Thanks so much for your comments! I always read them, don't always have time to answer quickly. Sorry about that!