I was so exhausted Friday afternoon that I thought it would be OK to grab a pillow and just recline a bit on the cool bathroom floor tiles as Miles bathed in the tub. It was about 3 pm, and Miles had not napped once during the entire beautiful-weather week.

I was completely horizontal, locking my eyes on my child’s, when he said something that sounded like “Pancake, Momma?”

I repeated it. He rejected my interpretation.

"Bankate, Momma. Bankate?"

Backache? I echoed back to him. Oh my sweet son, he’s asking if I have a backache. Isn’t he a sensitive love?

Bankay, bankay, bankay, he said, straddling the tub, dripping wet.

Belly ache? I wondered. I did mention I had a belly ache this morning.

Miles’s wet bare feet soon padded past my head, and he repeated this indecipherable word as he headed through my bedroom, down the hall, and over to his room. "Be careful!" I called to my naked-and-on-a-mission son, who has a pretty excellent sense of balance, but still, I should have gotten up and investigated, or at least dried his feet.

When he stalled in his room, I figured it out: Blankie.

My two-and-half-year old boy left his warm and playful tub to retrieve and deliver to his lazy ass, floor-hogging mom one of his blankets from his crib. He wanted to ensure my comfort needs were met as he sudsed up.

I was curious to see what he’d bring back, as I knew his quilts and blankets were heaped on the living room couch where we left them earlier that day.

Bankaybankaybankay (I could hear his footsteps and mantra getting louder as he got closer).

“Bankay, Momma?” Miles asked as he appeared at the bathroom doorway, a diaper cloth in his right hand. He carefully stretched the rectangular white cloth between my chin and waist, and made a sound that sounded like, There, Blankie, Momma.

Then he straddled the tub wall and plopped back in the bath. He resumed playing monster trucks with his boats (he aligns his rubber ducks along the tub wall then takes a toy ship and steamrolls over them, all the while chanting "must-huh-chuck.")

If he's not certifiably a genius then certainly his EQ has to be off the charts.

Ok, well, if it turns out that his emotional intelligence quotient is just plain ordinary, then let it be known, for sure, height-wise he's off the charts. All the pediatric physician assistants say so.

My sweet son.