Mom, I’m The Kicker

Birk was getting in the shower. Her 7 year old body jumping up and down and squiggling out of her clothes.

She looked at me with a big smile and joyfully said with a jump to punctuate her point, “Mom, I was the kicker!”

We had talked about many things that evening. I tried to figure out what she meant. I said, “In soccer?”

“No, mom, in your tummy. Remember? I was the kicker, Ruth was the hiccup-er and John was the roller. Remember mommy?”

Yes, now I am remembering…and smiling right along with her.

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