Keenly aware of the moss growing in my uterus

Cole asked me to dig out an old favorite—the No. 5 shirt—from a stash of sentimental Cole stuff up in the attic. I quickly recalled a particular shot taken on his 5th birthday, sporting said shirt.

As he squeezed into it, we reminisced about how the shirt once hit him at mid-thigh. And after a bit of scrapbook mom prodding, my 11-year-old son recreated the pose, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm.

Time is a bullet train, isn't it?