I look forward to The Colour Collaborative posts every month. It's a bloggy highlight of mine. This month's theme is 'bud.' Gillian's post included a poem by Sylvia Plath, a beautiful ode to her unborn child. It has stayed with me.
My baby is grown. There is no baby left, and yet he will always be the baby of the family. The youngest of three boys. From bud to bloom, he grows a little more every day. I have sat and watched him this week while he has been engaged in play. I look at his face as he concentrates on gluing and sticking. I laugh when he laughs at something funny. I wish I had written down all the topsy turvy way he has of expressing himself. I still scoop him up in a towel after a bath and carry him down the stairs, and yet he hasn't been perambulated for at least a year.
You're the top, Pops*.
Happy Mothering Sunday. Play it loud and sing along to Babs.
*So are Sam & Alf. Of course they are. It goes without saying. But I respect their wish not to be written about here. So the love I write about for Pops is also for them. They're the top too.