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Facing a wall of men’s underwear, struggling to visualise your 20-something son’s behind, is as faintly ridiculous as it is nostalgically tender.

You’ve traversed the tiny baby socks, toddler pyjamas, primary school sport shorts and teenager T-shirts in the familiar terrain of the outlet store, where his and his siblings’ childhood phases are mapped in stretchy cotton.

Here you are, in maternal midlife, still buying him his boxers.

A small but sure sign of unbroken closeness to an adored adult child who has lived out of home, but is back…

Read the full article at SMH.COM.AU