In praise of the Smooth Days

Younger son’s 11 now and doesn’t quite appreciate a cuddle from his dad as he used to.

What to me is a beautiful belly, is to him the last throes of baby fat that he can’t shed quickly enough. My references to his soft skin he now takes as an oblique insult to his burgeoning masculinity.

How can I explain to him that I’m simply enjoying the last of the Smooth Days, when soft skin represents the last thread tying me to those heady early days of parenthood?

Not long now before puberty and body hair wrap themselves around that thread and snap it forever, leaving me with two sons whom I’ll embrace but never again cuddle, for to do so would be like cuddling myself, calloused and furry,  and where’s the charm in that?

So, with a somewhat heavy heart, I savour this time. Because while I’ll always be a Dad, the Smooth Days remind me that my days as a Daddy are numbered.