Cleavage Drool & Other Signs of Endearment

I had a Bill Cosby moment.  In Himself, the great comic genious recalls how his newborn baby girl didn't just have a bowel movement, she [insert Cosby cutsie voice here] "made a poo poo."  While I'm certainly past the stage of loving my boy's poop (yeah, that love wanted real fast after odor started), he has other habits that not only can I not resist, but actually endear him more to me.  I have recently had a silent celebration in honor of getting my "pregnancy brain" back, but yesterday I realized that motherhood totally circumvents your good sense forever.  Tonight, my little boy drifted off to sleep in his car seat as I was driving him home from daycare.  Because he's had such a rough time adjusting to daycare, I decided to gently remove him from his car seat and hold him so he would stay asleep a little longer (who wouldn't sleep longer when hearing the thumping of a heartbeat and squishy noises from your stomach digesting your lunch).  I delicately removed my sweet sleeping boy from the car seat and carried him into the house whereupon I sat on the couch with him still in my arms.  He bristled a bit from being slightly jostled before settling into an even deeper sleep.  His breaths extended to a steady rhythm and suddenly I felt an odd sensation down the front of my shirt.  Reilly was so content that his mouth had dropped open so it was slightly ajar, and a thin line of drool extended and traveled southward in between "my girls" toward my perfectly-toned post-pregnancy belly (ok, my slightly lumpy post-preg belly).  My reaction landed somewhere between surprise and amusement when I realized that not only didn't I mind my boy's drool, but I loved it.  I loved that he was so content that his mouth casually fell open and I didn't mind getting wet from yet another naturally-created body fluid that makes my little one who he is.  Scary.