At birth…
You were huge; I packed without knowing you were going to be so big. We stuffed you inside the wondersuits…
…until I couldn’t stand it, so you stayed in singlets and was wrapped to sleep. Not that you were cold – it was a hot week; a surprising heat as only Melbourne can turn on in March. Keira sees this photo and asks, “Did you have another baby in your tummy?” and I said, no. I didn’t add your stomach looks like that after giving birth, as crumpled and slack as a blow-up mattress.
Now…
And now, you skip. You dance. You jump up and down in the dairy aisle singing, “I am a ROCK STAR. I’ve got the ROCK MOVES. And I don’t NEED YOU.”
Happy fourth birthday, my son. My youngest is four. I am beyond staggered.
