My little boy loves Abba. What's not to love when you're 5 years old? The latest in his collection of cds - growing in size now to rival our own - and straight to the top of his chart. A cd player, previously belonging to my Gran, blasts out famous songs we all know - re-recorded in child's voice, packaged in cartoon graphics, and sent with love for the next generation to enjoy.
Early morning - dressed in school uniform greyer than the shade of our pouring skies - he sings and jumps and shouts, the baby floor bound and in awe. No. 1, on repeat, louder than I would allow. Inhibition free and a dancing prince to his mother's queen.
In teens and twenties, in nightclubs in the dark, I danced and twirled and spun. From one to the next until my husband caught - dizzy of head and happy to save the final dance for him. Weddings now, our infrequent chance to drag ourselves back to the floor.
But I dance today with my boy, 5 minutes and babe in arms we spin and twist and sing. A dismal rainy morning illuminated in song. Lost in his music, where - I believe - he belongs. My girl and I approve, this day my son has reminded his mother to sing. To dance and forget to care. I should try to remember more.
And a redundant cd player put again to good use. Gran loved Abba - she would most certainly approve... x