His little boy smell, the feel of his warm and slightly sticky self pressed against me, his blond hair flying into my eyes, my nose, covering my lips.
How long after my tiny son’s birth, did your own body bring forth a tender wailing child?
But sometimes when I watch her I want to slam on the brakes even now. “Take that corner slow, my little love… don't slip, there could be ice… are you signaling and giving yourself enough time to stop?”
I thought the goodbyes to childhood would choke me and that my grief would steal my joy. Nothing could be further from the truth.