Today is my oldest son’s birthday and I really don’t want to think of how old he is because that only makes me feel old and my hubs has told me stop thinking about feeling old…
When he was turning all those lovely young ages I viewed him as a personification of time.
He depicted each year’s flight in flesh and bone.
In his little toddler body I could see the shape of the passing years.
What did he do with his little toddler body? Those Flintstone feet and chubby cheeks?
Well, I suspect the toddler body is trapped inside his grown up body.
Sometimes the bottom lip gives him away.
Sometimes his sense of humour bubbles to the surface.
Sometimes he says,
“I love you Mum,” and his voice breaks.
My living indicator of time is grown now and working hard; living in an apartment and being independent; all the things he should be at the post toddler age he turns today.
But I don’t want to think of how old he is on the outside of his toddler body!