The scale of it

Age milestones are often reason for moments of reflection and sometimes moments of realisation. Sometimes these moments also strike when you least expect them.
Ka's brother hit the big 3 - 0 yesterday and we celebrated over a slap up meal in Angels, the local hotel/restaurant. Colin, with two birthday badges pinned to his shirt at each nipple region, done his best to avoid the cameras after, what must have been, the thirtieth pose under his big helium balloon. Back at the McGarva house afterwards, for cake and coffee, we all participated in the usual game of pass the parcel, presided over, as ever, by Morgan.
When I say 'usual', no game in the McGarva house is ever usual. This one in particular was no exception. Instead of passing the usual layered up present it was decided that in this game we were to pass a near deflated balloon, the size of a disected kidney, around the room, to the gawd awful sounds of the latest 'Glee' album. Whenever the music stopped, a moment that was all too brief in my meagre opinion, the person with the balloon was out and whoever was left at the end of the game was named winner with a present. The presents varied in quality from a can of deoderant to the more substantial clothing or candles bought in the recent Next sale.
Ka, for instance, won a small sleep suit. Grace quickly pointed out the prize was not specifically for her, which was just as well as the label read for a size of 3 to 6 months. Ka, with her sister, Angela, immediately started awing over the suit.
Letting me view her win, I held it up before me, holding it by the shoulders. A small, pale brown felt giraffe looked back at me from the front of the suit's chest and the scale of it hit me. Not the scale of the giraffe, although it was very small, this wasn't the scale factor hitting me. This small suit was for a small person, the same small person growing inside KA as we passed a stupid little balloon around the room. That small instant turned into another of those worryingly giant, earth spinning moments in which you give an internal shout in the great David Byrne tradition, "My god, what have I done?!"
As Byrne's crazed, panic stricken hollers faded in my head it once more gave way to quiet, curiousity and excitement. Just as I started to relax again and the world settled back into normality around me I was sure the small giraffe winked at me knowingly from the sleep suit. Blinking hard, I hurriedly returned the small piece of clothing to Ka and ran off to the kitchen, for a strong cup of tea. I would have loved to had something a tad stronger, like the Glenmorangie Colin was dishing out, but I was driving home. Behind the wheel of a large automobile, to my beautiful house, with my beautiful wife.