Dear Mom,
Thank you for the last letter you’ve written me. It reminded me of one of those times of getting into those tight spaces.
One bright afternoon, when everybody else was doing school, I had not started school yet. I remember taking my light, fluffy comforter off my bed—or sometimes just any other blanket that was soft, fuzzy, or anything that felt comfy to me—and completely wrapping myself up in it like one of those Egyptian mummies.
Then I would crawl underneath my own bed.