the worry spot

Joe, in 15 or so years: Mom? What is this weird spot on my chest?

Me: Where?

Joe: right here, over my heart? It’s this weird like, indented spot. Is it like my birthmark, or like, a structural issue?

Me: Oh. That’s your worry spot. SORRY!

Joe: My what?

Me: When you were little I used to creep into your room while you were asleep to make sure you were breathing. I’d put two fingers right there, just to see.

Joe: You couldn’t just look?

Me: Nope! I needed to feel it.

Joe: So you just like, lightly touching my chest left this big of a mark? That’s crazy.

Me: Oh, well I did it at least 90 times a night. It doesn’t matter how soft I did it, how lightly I meant it, how definite your breathing was, I just needed to keep feeling it over and over.

Joe: Weird, okay. Well, I’m out.

Me: Where to?

Joe: Dad’s teaching me how to drive the self driving car.

Me: ……Can I touch the spot first?



Joe: BYE

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