For the first five or so years of Felix’s life he wasn’t really that interested in anyone except me. “I want mummy” was a common refrain, yelled, screamed, whimpered, wailed, squealed.
It could leave Chef in tears.
That this son didn’t really seem to care for him.
There was constant reassurances that the time would come.
And while this son is so very much mine, today I watched as our sons and my husband brandished weapons and battled it out in the living room, the youngest in the thick of it squealing at the mayhem and bouncing up and down with delight.
Tonight Chef and Felix went to watch the Swans play West Coast at Homebush.
We have inherited Chef’s parents season tickets while they are in France for three months.
Chef took Oscar two weeks ago so this time it was Felix’s turn.
It turns out they had cracker seats – a mere fifteen rows behind the West Coast bench.
I can well imagine the proximity, the reverberation as the game thundered on nearby.
The smells of sweat and muscle balm.
They’re now on the bus coming home.