I chuckled, despite the ache of my creaky lower back. How I function with that half broken thing everyday is still a mystery to me. "You almost look 6 months old again," I told him.
As I struggled to get out of bed, he screeched, "Lie down maamaa, lie down next to me." An everyday dialogue between the two of us that meanders on like a stuck tape record. "No Riaan, I have to get your tiffins packed and go for a walk. Then I'll have to get breakfast ready and pack you off to school."
The morning routine is a killer for both of us. His unending speeches I put a full stop to as I move around like a quick robot from one end of the house to the other, setting things in motion to kick-start the day.
As I began my morning walk though, my mind meandered back to my little boy's smiling face and googly eyes. I suppose this is what they call those glimmers in the day, those tiny pockets of happiness, which we're supposed to recall and be grateful for.
For the timebeing, we're stuck in this endless loop of working days and weekend relief, but in the grand scheme of things, I suppose these black holes of time that just slip away, without us even realising it, is what we'll recall when we have no teeth, more white hair and would slowly begin to resemble wise old tortoises.
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