More than four, less than six
I kiss your tangy sweaty little boy head as you push me away.
There is sand in your hair clinging to your scalp.
Because you were doing somersaults in the dirt.
I should have known.
In early evening you sit, tired from a day spent figuring out the workings of the world, inside and out.
Your little brother crawls over you. And over you again.
You don’t mind. You barely look away from the program on the TV.
You have grown so capable.
Limbs lengthening. Now all muscle and bone, and soft tight skin.
New freckles dot your nose. Your teeth used to seem so big.
Last week we saw the planets, and marveled at the vastness of the universe.
How this goes around that, and that goes around this.
And I marveled at you, my boy, who entered this world face up, eyes open.
Happy belated birthday to my dearest Pickle, a kind and generous boy who has only just started being a little too cool for my kisses.