Growing Child

 For months

we had been gently training Sai —
five years old,
bright-eyed —
to do all things
by himself.

And this morning
he sprang onto the swing
without my hands,
without my lift,
and let the air carry him
higher,
higher still,
laughing into the sky.

I warned the others,
half in jest,
half in truth —
if you still wish to feed him
tiny hand-rolled bites,
to savour those
slow, unhurried meals,
to steal moments
when he needs you
as he once did —
hurry.

Soon
he will not wait
with his plate,
expecting someone to sit beside him.
Soon
he will not stretch the day
with small refusals and sweet delays.
He will eat in a rush,
eager to chase
the next thing his growing eyes discover.

We had wished for this —
his quickness,
his hunger for the world —
and so it came.
Now, his extra spoonfuls
will not trouble us.

But it was I
who used to set him on the swing,
who leaned in
to give that first push
towards the clouds.

Today he needed none of it.
And my heart —
so full of pride —
found, in its quiet corner,
a small,
unexplained ache.

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