“Mom, how old were you when you married Daddy?” Brennan asks as I hug him goodnight.
“I was 24.” I reply.
“24! Wow, that’s old.”
Sigh. Yes, practically ancient.
“And that was how old you were when you first kissed Daddy? 24?”
I only wish I hadn’t burst out laughing just so I could have solemnly told him, yes. Yes, 24 is a perfect age for you to hit before you start kissing girls. But my laughter may have ruined it. Damn it. Another practically perfect parenting moment ruined by my lack of a poker face.
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