He spied the poster a long time ago. Whilst sharing a milkshake at a favourite haunt and chatting about this and that his eyes narrowed in and his milk moustached mouth beamed, "Steam train Mumma!". It was scheduled for the day before his birthday and we couldn't think of a more fitting way to celebrate the adventure of his life.
With both sets of grandparents in tow we ran our hands over amber wood smoothed by time, wear and much careful polishing. We inhaled aged leather and coal smoke and caught the tail end of memories as they hung off curlicued brass and in the corners of pressed metal ceilings. Tales were told, eyes were widened and the corners of mouths were nearly always curled upwards. And amidst all the clickety clack and bustling chatter I watched him.
Eyes no longer blue like mine but green as sea glass like his Papa's. Hands still bearing the dimples and pudginess of the baby days yet facial features ever so slightly fining down. He was quiet and reserved as he often is in new spaces but his eyes danced each time the train tooted. I smiled inwardly at my naive pregnant self, the one who questioned whether it would be possible to love another baby as much as the one before. I recalled those early, gentle hours after his arrival when I held him close and we studied each other. "I'm rather smitten with you little man." I said as his soulful eyes searched mine. And with each day together I've continued to fall head over heels. His is a love of laughter, of kindness, of affection. It rolls like crystal rainforest creeks and bathes my weaknesses and follies; it refreshes. I am blessed to know him.
Happiest of days my beloved boy.