He'll always be my little boy!

Just moments ago, he was a little toddler with dark, brown eyes, grabbing my finger to walk around the swimming pool.

A year or so later, he was sitting on the couch with his arms folded, lisping "Alleme Dalla kly net altyd laas". (Afrikaans for 'Poor Dalla is always in trouble' - after all the busy grown-ups had kept sending him away from one to another...) Eyes looking trustingly up at his mum, knowing I would come to his rescue.

In my mind's eye I still see his big, serious brown eyes looking at me with such ernestness the day after his father died. He was only eight, and he told me that I was not to worry - he would be the man of the house now.

My little boy woke up with a severe tummy ache at 2 o'clock this morning. After hours of waiting, worrying, waiting some more, he was taken for an emergency appendectomy! Today I had to watch while they stuck needles in my baby. Prodded him and poked him. He was so brave, and stoic and trying not to upset me. The worst moment was when he was wheeled into the operation theatre, with me waving teary-eyed from a distance. More waiting around, worrying, a few nervous tears and poor hubby trying to keep the show on the road. Eventually after 3 hours we were told he was in recovery. At last, the waiting was over. I just wanted to be with my son. After the surgery he looked so helpless, and sweet and I longed to cuddle him on my lap.

But... today he would have none of this. Obviously annoyed and embarrassed by his doting mum, he closed his eyes, much like he used to when he was small, and he had thought that I couldn't see him if his face was covered. Problem is, he's eighteen now, taller than me, quite hairy, and making eyes at the nurses!

image: http://polvo.org/april07/Emergency.jpg