Sometimes I forget. Their three lives sometimes meld into one indistinguishable “baby” or “toddler” memory and I am unable to separate out whose experience was whose. I catch myself asking Kevin “who liked this?” or “who did that when they were a baby?” – maybe I am just getting old or maybe it is a natural consequence of having 3 children in 4 years.

I was certain he had seen a bubble machine before, but when I turned it on, he “whooped” in surprise with his whole body in the way that only the very young or uninhibited can do.  He watched in amazement as a cloud of milky soap bubbles were carried away in the wind, desperately trying to catch and keep hold of them in his chubby toddler hands. Squeals of gleeful amazement echoing across our neighbourhood of retirees and childless professionals. He ran back and forth through the stream of orbs and delighted when they popped around him. “Again! Again!” he cried when the soap ran out. We went through half a bottle of bubble mix, only going inside as his sister’s patience finished.

This one, I won’t forget.