We bought a new desk.
A desk for MPS. A desk for bills and the flotsam of life.
An adult desk without teeth marks and corners gnawed off the sides thanks to our boy-who-chews-everything.
A relatively cheap one, an interim desk if you will, a test desk to see if we can have at least one piece of furniture not become a chew toy for our orally fixated boy.
Boo decided he would like the old one in his room. We obliged.
After changing his room around to accommodate the desk I stood back to admire our handiwork.
Such a big boy room.
A bed, a desk, a tallboy with TV.
A bedside table topped with ipod dock, lamp, comics.
Such a big boy room befitting his age.
And then, as I stocked his bedside table with his nappies, I felt a twinge of sadness.
Such a big boy room. A room just like any boy in his class would have. A boy on the cusp of teenagerdom.
Except in those two bottom drawers.
And then I couldn’t breathe. And the enormity of his future hit me again.
I stood there, leaning over his open bedside drawer staring at those nappies through the soft focus that only ‘something in my eye’ can bring.
Good thing those fuckers are absorbent.