Flashbacks

Fluttering - that first sign it's real. A tiny life not even seen but independently moving and growing, delighting and terrifying.

Drama, pain, relief and wonder at tiny fingers and toes and amazement at such a noise from such a small human.

Demanding, exhausting, exhilarating as 3-6 replaces 0-3. When counting in weeks changes to counting in months changes to counting in years.

18 years.

Standing in front of his new home hundreds of miles away. Proud but fearful. Happy but sad.

Requests for nourishment and entertainment replaced (mainly) by adult chat and laughs and camaraderie. Tolerating loud music which often assaults the ears and inwardly smiling at enthusiastic and confident opinions not yet tempered by longevity.

Looking into his new kitchen and a new future. Which features you on page 309 in the novel of their life. A bit part on the stage, an extra in the sitcom.


Flashbacks. Of cute dungarees, of baptisms, of terrifying tumbles which turned out to be minor trips, of misspoken words, of impulsive hugs, of stifling laughs as he performs more than pre-school wanted on stage.

Of childhood friendships, of birthday teas, of first days at school, of exam results, of driving tests. Of that first trip alone on his motorbike leaving me with everything crossed, helpless at home.

And now this. A leafy campus first seen in sunshine. Hoping that all the days ahead are sunny for him. It's exactly like it was at the very start, before he was even born. He's independently moving and growing, delighting and terrifying. 

Packing and planning.

All I hear is flapflapflap- the sound of a fledgling flying the nest.