A wise school principal once said to me, 'Days are long, years are short.' Such statements usually bug me because deep down it really doesn't make any sense, but annoyingly true. Be careful with this one, though, as it rolls around in your head. When you look back at years, you remember things like, 'Oh, that's the year that I got married.' Or, 'that's the year I lived with Joanne, Cami and Sarah in that football weekend flop house on Mound Street.' It's so different from, 'that's the bike ride that I noticed that Suzy's legs reached all the way down the crank on the pedal.' The leg that couldn't quite do it back in June was down to the bottom at the end of August.
But, but. There's nothing like the day you notice these legs. They are everywhere. They never stop. And they are only just beginning. My goodness, what on earth are we going to do with all those legs? Our house isn't that big! And he's only 8! He's still my small boy. He'll still hold my hand. And kiss me goodbye on the driveway while I'm wearing my pajamas.
It's almost as scary as that square chin. Or the fact that he never shares his ice cream anymore. How did I miss that day?
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