My younger son, C, is almost four years old. A cheeky and loveable rogue, he is rapidly redefining the meaning of the term “Mommy’s Boy”, such is his attachment to his number-one fan a.k.a. my wife.
However, there is one thing that C loves more than his mother. It’s not a fancy toy or a tasty treat. It has nothing to do with any animals or digital gadgets. It is … a shirt! Just a plain, boring white (and often filthy from his drool and spills) cotton shirt – a shirt that not only has no logos or cute robot prints, but has more wear and tears than it has threads. What’s more, he doesn’t even wear the shirt, as it is my wife’s old shirt from the days of B.C. (Before Children). It was given to C soon after he turned one, as a sort of comfort blanket to help him settle during sleeps. Continue reading