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My internet addiction has spawned Henry’s television addiction. When Medium and Large are off at school, it is oftentimes too easy to start my morning with a cup of joe, Facebook, and the New York Times online.

I closed the laptop. “I’m going upstairs to fold laundry, Henry. When this show is over, please turn off the TV, come upstairs and get dressed.” His drool output was low; he must have heard me. Guilt battered my heart. “I love you,” I said.

Unable to tear his eyes away from PBS’ Dinosaur Train, he mumbled, “I wuv you, too.”

At what age do the adorable -isms become less adorable? I worry that he’ll be twenty years old saying things like, “I want you to meet my famiwy. They’re jutht gonna wuv you.”

“Henry, say ‘love’.”

He removed the thumb plugging his mouth. “Wuv.”

“Not ‘wuv,’ love.” I knelt in front of the armchair in which he was sprawled. “Look at my tongue. I put it on the roof of my mouth–behind my teeth–and say l-l-l-ove.”

Our faces were inches apart. His dark brown eyes searched mine. He was earnest. “I wuv you, I wuv you, I wuv you, Mommy.”

There is no other response to an expression of adoration like that, except: “I love you too, buddy.”

Bawbawa Walters did alright for herself.


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