Page 54 of Soft
My boy was already deep in his Little space, the professional, careful Grizzly set aside for the moment.
"What are you making?" I asked, keeping my voice soft.
"A bwed," he said, not looking up. "For babies."
"Are you taking care of them?"
He nodded, then settled back on his heels to assess his work. After a moment, he leaned forward to adjust a small bunny who’d apparently been placed incorrectly.
"I'm their mama," he said.
I let the statement hang between us for a minute. "Yeah?"
"Mamas are soft," he said factually, as if there was no way I could question its validity. "And I is soft. I soft mama."
I turned this over in my mind, thinking about how to handle it. Because what he was saying made its own kind of sense, and I didn't want to bulldoze over the logic of it, but I also knew this was a learning moment for both of us. I wanted to get it right.
"Can you face Daddy for a minute, baby?" I asked.
He looked up.
"Mamas can be soft. That's true. But softness isn't only a Mama thing. Daddies can be soft too." I held his gaze. "I'm soft with you, aren't I?"
He considered my words, his brow dipping as a frown etched over his previously neutral expression. "Yeeessss," he said slowly.
"Then the soft part doesn't have to mean Mama. You can be soft and still be Little. And I can be soft and still be your Daddy." I tilted my head. "Does that make sense?"
He looked at the babies, then back at me. "But who care them if I the Little?"
"We both do. You can still be their mama if that's what feels right. I just wanted you to know you don't have to be Mama because you're soft. You can just be you."
Something shifted in his face. Like my words brought forth a revelation. He looked down at the stuffies and then back at me, his gaze earnest.
"Otay," he said.
"Okay," I agreed. "Now tell me about the babies. I want to know all of them."
This was, clearly, the right thing to say. His whole face changed as he turned back to the pile with renewed purpose. Introducing me to the stuffies in the bed he made took time. He gave me names and personalities for each, along with very specific information about who needed what and who was difficult at bedtime and who was the best at sharing.
It was one of the most purely joyful things I had ever witnessed.
Wells was in the middle, predictably, in the position of honor.
"He's oldest," Grizzly explained when he reached the bear. "But he newest too. Him spwecial."
The statement was confusing if I thought about it too hard. For a Little, it had to make perfect sense. Which was why I smiled, going along with his words without question.
As he spoke, he’d tucked extra blankets around the stuffies. Seeing his process led to another question.
"Are you nesting, baby?" I asked.
He froze, looking at what he had made in a new light. “Nest?"
"Have you heard of Omegaverse?"
His expression shifted. I watched as some of the big side of him came through. "Wait…You’ve read those kinds of books?"
"A few,” I answered with a laugh. “Back in college. One of the guys on the team was really into it, and I read a couple to understand what he was always talking about." I looked at the nest. "It's basically what you're doing. Nesting. Making a safe space for the people you're taking care of."
