How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
That grey hair is from when you swallowed a Lego brick and I had to hold you upside down to get it back it.
That scar is from when you were snared by brambles and I had to free you.
This wrinkle is from your first night on the town with your mates – and the mess you made of the bathroom when you got home.
This empty feeling is the day you left home.
This joy is the day you married your lovely girl.
This swell of pride so huge it might break me is our grandchild’s fist curled round my finger.
Too many ways to count.