Breakfast Boy

Andrew keeps me healthy! Every morning, he and Sean come back just in time after sending Sarah and Sophie to school to see Rachel onto her school bus. Matthew would have left much earlier to go to school by train and bus, leaving the little boy alone with his parents for the next hour or two.

We often walk about the estate, stopping to play at one of the two neighbouring playgrounds. He can climb a ladder by himself now, and go up the steps and across the bridge to the highest slide that he comes swiftly down, without the slightest hesitation.

When we get home again, sometimes I feel lazy and want to crawl back to bed or just laze about. Andrew, without fail, will ask for 'egg!' 'bread!' 'tea!' I feel bad to refuse, so I get myself into the kitchen to pop a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, scramble an egg in the microwave, and drown tea leaves with hot water in a teacup.

It's cosy and sociable having breakfast by the floor-length windows of our sixteenth floor apartment. I tear small pieces of toast for Andrew and butter each piece before putting it into his little bowl. He's getting better at eating scrambled egg with a spoon every day, in his highchair next to me, while I slip him a spoonful of sweetened tea or coffee every now and then.

It's a real privilege to have mornings with Andrew. In a way I hope it makes up for the fact that he will have twelve years less of my time than Matthew, assuming that I should leave this earth before either of them.