See, there are so many layers of fabric stitched into my apron strings, D18. A billion moments of sparkly treasures. Your first breath, your first step, songs, jokes, rhymes, movie lines. How is it that a pinky perfect babe-in-arms miraculously transforms into a gorgeous teen, a grown man? You are full of hope and promise, intelligence and enthusiasm, sensitivity and strength.
This endless summer of mornings spent in sun and surf, long walks with baby brothers and sister - throwing the dice to determine the road travelled - and ending up unsurprisingly at the dairy, our April Sun in Cuba bubble, training runs with Dad, sharing ice cold beers and jokes and opening our hearts in The Secret Garden, viewing petite french movies at the local cinema, late night crossword puzzles, your early morning offerings from BK, all are being wrapped in baby blue tissue and tied with floaty ribbons and stored in little compartments of our memories.
It's been so marvellously good, the season of your childhood. I find it hard to believe that that we are blessed with these people, and life is this beautiful. We've shared so many sunny years, all together. And now you are ready to leave the nest. You are ready to grow up. The Big Wide World is just up the road, waiting to be explored and celebrated. It's a complicated business, this Letting Go. How many kiwis make five? Mostly to preserve self, I am believing that life is full of au revoirs, for I am sure that mothers are not required to let their children go completely.
And so we continue to draw breath together for another few sleeps, and I stay awake late at night saying a prayer for you and stitching a little piece of elastic into my apron strings.