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Every now and then it hits me. The completely obvious and yet hard to comprehend idea that my little boy will someday be a grown man. And instantly a lump forms in my throat. And it’s hard to swallow, this realisation that with each new word he learns and every centimeter he grows, he is less and less my little boy and more and more his own person. It’s a part of parenting I wasn’t really prepared for.

When I imagine Lachie as a teenager, and then a grown man, a father, I see a life full of adventure and experience and love. A full life. It’s what I hope for him, more than anything. And yet I know all of these things mean I will have to let go, a bit more every time.

So for now, while I can, I cuddle him tightly and kiss him gingerly. And try my best to savour just how much he needs me, painfully aware it won’t last forever.

Am I bit crazy or do you think about these things too? Or is blissful denial a better strategy?

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