When my husband is away on a business trip, Sam and I share a bed. I tried to fight it, but then the business trips became too frequent and Sam and I spent less time not sleeping than sleeping. It just wasn’t working.

Last night he snuggled in next to me — all cool and sweet-smelling from his bath. We read some books and then curled up under the covers. It was barely 8 o’clock but we were both tired and cranky. I rubbed his back then he rubbed mine with is pudgy hands.

Then came the question that I’ve been getting a lot these days: “Mama, will you marry me? I want to marry you.”

I was half asleep and this is a conversation we’ve had many, many times before. I took the easy way out.

“Sure,” I said.

Silence.

“Mama, why are you so fat?”

I chuckled awake and pretended to be offended. I laughed and said: “You know what, I don’t think I will marry you after all.”

“No, no, Mama, I don’t mind! I don’t mind that you are fat!”

And strangely I didn’t mind either.