People keep telling me that Dear Boy is all Lovely Husband: the forehead, the brows, the eyes, the expressions. But I've always looked at his face and seen my own. The pictures of me as a child look like my boy with piggytails. His 100 metre stare, his half grin, his sorta dimples, his eyes, his lips, his cheeks: they're all mine. See?
The photo at the top is me at two, a child found after being lost. A child found eating her sister's paint. Dig those big plastic pilchers and my stripey, stripey socks. That photo has always been a favourite of mine, but seeing it now, I see his future face, his hand prints on his belly.