10, yet today you were my baby boy. Your voice rang like it does in our home movies, and as long as I wasn’t looking at you, you were 4 years old, without a care in the world.
Your voice is believable as a little boy’s, but your face seldom trips me up… that familiar face. So familiar in fact, that it’s expressions reflect my moods, my tones, my own temper, and straighten me out when I’m being unfair. Today though, you were beyond repair and needed “mommy” as you haven’t needed me in years. Years.