That's the momma bird

For a brief time, I will wear the plumage of a male bird.

While reading book about birds, Beren points the outstanding male wood duck, the scarlet male cardinal, the resplendent and sapphire indigo bunting, and say, "That's the momma bird." Absolutely confident.

"Who's this then?" I ask, pointing to a brown feathered female. "That's the papa."

"Sometimes the papa birds are very colorful, and the momma birds are brown," I say and turn the page.

We silently look at a page depicting wild turkeys. Several females, one displaying male. "That's the momma," Beren says, gesturing to the immense male.

For this brief time, I'm a beautiful, jewel of a bird, large and filling the space of my child's world.