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I finished packing Kaidence’s lunch and headed upstairs to help him get dressed.

He was supposed to have been brushing his teeth while I handled everything downstairs, so I fully expected to walk into his room and find him standing there in his underwear waiting on me.

Instead, I stopped in the doorway because he had somehow managed to dress himself.

Technically.

His shirt was twisted around his torso, one side bunched higher than the other, and his pants looked like he had pulled them on in a hurry without bothering to straighten anything out. One sock was pushed halfway down his ankle, and his hair was still sticking up on one side from sleep.

I stood there for a second, trying not to laugh.

“Kaidence.”

He looked up with one brow lifted. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Did you get dressed with your eyes closed?”

He looked down at his chest, then back at me. “No.”

“Then why you look like that?”

“Like what?”

I walked over and knelt in front of him, tugging his shirt loose so I could straighten it properly.

“Like somebody threw a pile of clothes at your head and told you to figure it out.”

He giggled, squirming on the mattress.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You are literally moving right now.”

“Because your hands are cold and you’re tickling me.”

“Boy, hold still.”

I fixed his shirt, straightened his pants, pulled his sock back up, and then oiled him down so thoroughly he looked like somebody’s grandma had gotten hold of him in 1997. By the time I finished rubbing lotion into his arms, legs, and cheeks, that boy was moisturized enough to reflect light.

“Alright.” I stepped back on my heels. “Let me look at you.”

He stood up straight, puffing out his chest.

“Much better. Now you look like somebody loves you.”

Kaidence rubbed his arm and frowned. “I’m shiny.”

“You’re moisturized.”

“I look slippery.”

“You look cared for. There’s a difference.”

He grinned at me.

And just like that, the laughter sitting in my chest softened into something heavier.