IT’S funny how life can change.
Three years ago at 25, life was racing along at a pace I could barely keep up with. I was working 70-hour weeks and powering through a seemingly unstoppable social life. It was busy, it was hectic, it was great — but there was always that lingering knowledge something more was about to come.
As I write this, it’s a Friday afternoon at around 3.30pm. After a day of working through a pile of work strewn around my office at home, I hear the car door close and the slow and steady footsteps of my husband ascending the stairs, followed very closely by a very quick and excited set of footsteps behind him.
The front door creaks open. “We’re home” he calls out.
The excited footsteps continue through the house, and the cheeky smile of my 12-year-old son emerges around the doorway of my office: “Dad, I’ve got a surprise for you!”
He drops his school bag on the floor and starts rummaging through it. “Don’t look!” he says.
He searches some more and comes up with his treasured possession: a wooden shield, with the crest in the centre comprising of a small copper press image of a pokeball. He hands it to me, glowing with pride.
“I made it for you! Do you like it?” he asks.
There’s no questioning it. I love it.
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