We have a sick little man in our ranks of late. He's pathetically adorable and my heart gives a compassionate lurch when I look at him, puffy-eyed and uncharacteristically quiet. Now that he's six (and let's be accurate, for the past six months at least), he's identified more and more obviously with his Daddy and others who have the tremendous honor (in his eyes) of being Male. It's sort of a sad gauntlet to pass through for me, though I know by now that these things ebb and they flow. He reverts fully back to the world of Mommy-Love whilst ill and to say that on some level, this doesn't please me would be a lie. He lies slumped across my chest for long, long minutes at a time as I scratch his back. Not even once does he complain about my girl-hair.