My big love for a little egg 

On the subject of love, while there is the peachy kind (which I am still too scared to sample), I felt other kinds of love today. 2 in particular.
The love for the house the Mortimer family have been custodians of for over 4 decades. The love for all the memories made in the old stone walls and flag stone floors as we hand it over to the next custodians to love and care for it. The love gained and the love lost as we lay on the carpet where the bed in our room once stood, the bed I crept down the corridor into after all the lights were all out and the snoring started; the bed I lay in as we lost our first child; the bed we tucked up our little boys for the first nights away from home. 
And the love for a child. A love so incredibly strong for someone so fragile, you would do anything to protect it, keep it safe and while and perfect.
And as I was thinking those words, ironing shirts, one of those fragile, precious beings came in with that same strained, silent, trying-to-brave look.
And here I am, with emergency snacks, several hours ahead of me with my precious son. I keep telling him, if he wants a few hours of quality alone time, he doesn’t need to break a bone!
Post script. 

No bones broken or crushed by the 100 year old lawn mower falling on a hand. Just bruising, swelling and instructions for elevation and pain control.
My Tom. My first little egg. The one I want to wrap in cotton wool but know I can’t. I know he has to crack and Break and bruise. Injuries and experience give us the scars of life that provide wisdom. He will be a wise one this egg for the way he throws himself into life. And the more he breaks, the stronger he grows back; the more he tests his wings, the higher he will soar.

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