Balloon World
We rush this two year-old too fast
at the market, eager to cram him sponge-like
with colours and sound and action, lift him
high to survey forests of broccoli
tumbles of red and green capsicums
yellow dunes of apples, laid out like a map.
Let down to wander, he is drawn to the snicker-snacker
of the barber’s clippers, and the tangles and curls
strewn on the floor.
At the pet shop he tries to tug the lids
off the fish tanks - he’s learnt that most things
give way under enough pressure. His hands hover
over two buckets of smooth aquarium stones
as if in blessing for this gift – but he’s whisked out
to the aisle, where an elephant suited man
sprouting white balloons, stoops to give him one on a stick,
pats his head but goes unrewarded.
Like a blind man the child taps his balloon
straight through the crowd dodging and tripping
around him - he is in total eclipse.
“I know now that everything changes, and it’s usually too quickly.”*
Having children reminds us of the changing nature of ourselves and our world. Before children entered my life, years could go by and I would usually have external events to mark them. Now, years are remembered for my children’s birth or ages, and our experiences together. (And the time before the birth of my first child feels like a thousand years ago!). Their growth seems rapid and shockingly sudden – and my time with them is all the more precious for knowing that.
* © from 'Being Mummy' by Anne‑marie Taplin, published April 2007