We were in the car together for a really long time. Snuggled up in the backseat, me in between their two carseats as I balanced the DVD player on my knees.
(But I certainly didn't give it enough space to push my book out of the way.)
Their hands clamored on me.
That's nice for a while. The interlocked fingers, their counting my freckles and veins, tracing my fingernails as they've done since they were infants. I study them when they sleep; they study me when I sit still beside them. We know each others' details.
But then there's also the pushing and shoving and spacelessness that comes with sitting in between two little boys for hours on end.
I finally and suddenly reached my limit, wanting to spread out in a space all my own.
I muttered to myself, "Oh, my word. Someone has been touching me all day long today."
Tyler gasped. "Oh my goodness, Mommy! Who on earth has been touching you so much?"
Well, sweet boy, for starters: you.
He realized neither that it was him nor that I could perhaps reach my capacity.