Play it again, grandma

I stood in my bare feet, my oldest grandchild at my side.  “Goodness, Bug,” I said, “you’re almost up to my shoulder.”  His back straightened a little as he stretched his head up.  Then he strutted away.

“How tall am I?” asked the Worm, the five-year-old granddaughter.  She ran up to stand next to me.  I put my hand on top her head and measured where she came to against my body. 

“You’re almost up to my boob.”

She laughed and laughed.

She’s made it our running joke.  “Grandma, do the how tall I am thing again,” she says as she affixes her gangly body to my side.  “You know the one where you say I’m as tall as your boob.”

The Mouse never gets enough pat-a-cake.  The Bug never enough chocolate cake.  And the Worm never gets enough standing in the shadow of my boob.

I’ve got to enjoy it now, because at the rate my body parts are falling she’ll be towering over me in no time.

Related posts:

1. Halloween on a budget
2. The gaps in my life
3. The magic of youth
4. Let me introduce you to my family
5. I’m old enough to be thankful