Written by Cathy
I love pillows. Not the decorative type of pillows that home stylists carefully and deliberately place on pristine sofas. I’m talking about the bed pillows we all seem to have special feelings for–hard ones, soft, fluffy, hypoallergenic, down, etc..
I love my bed pillows. They embrace me. They caress my aching bones, soothe my stiff joints, support my weary head and neck. When I crawl into bed with my current book or magazine, I eagerly arrange my pillows behind my back, under my knees, against my elbows. Heaven on Earth! Such comfort!
A few days ago, my daughter watched me as I held her youngest child. The baby tiredly pushed against my sloping shoulders. She rubbed her face across my chest and nestled into my soft body, as she fell into a restful slumber.
“You and Dad are the only ones she does that with! She doesn’t fall asleep like that on me,” my daughter sighed. “Why?”
I looked at my beautiful, slender, fit daughter with her square shoulders, strong arms and taut abdomen and answered her, “Because I am a pillow.”
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