This morning I had a dream that I was taking a toddler-aged Cory trick or treating. I had her by the hand, but she tripped over the hem of her long princess gown, and went reeling as we descended someone's stone steps. I grabbed for her, my heart in my throat, and checked her over from one end to another. She was fine, just scared, and I grabbed her up to carry her to the next house on my hip. She settled in comfortably, her pumpkin bucket bobbing in one hand, while her other hand rested around a lock of my hair. I could feel everything...her weight against my hip, the remnant of a tear transferred from her chubby cheek to mine, her complete and utter trust of me.
And the way dreams do, it spilled over to cuddling up to an age-unknown Cory watching The Aristocats. We delighted over our favorite parts, giggling even if we had seen them a few hundred times already, and ended the movie as we always did...with the sudden, fevered desire to go buy some kittens and teach them to paint and play the piano.
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