I slip under the covers and remove his underwear, lick his thighs, his stomach. Eventually I help him fall asleep.
Love his confidence. Love that he lets me be independent. Love that we can give each other the occasional space for a night out with friends.
“Have a great day, shefele!” I smile at my 6-year-old the next morning as he leaves with my husband. My 4-year-old just left for cheder, and my 2-year-old is about to get dropped off at the babysitter.
Turning the key in the ignition, I notice the ink on my hand. Quickly wiping it off with my sleeve, I laugh to myself. Would’ve had to come up with a good excuse for my chumash students as to why I have a big red stamp on my hand.
This piece originally appeared on the website Unpious, an online journal for those whose roots are in the Chasidic world but have left it in body or spirit.
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