Day 3,809 —Da-Da! —

My hair was wet from the rain. Taking off my headlamp, I opened the door to go inside. The sound of my 18-month-old son’s footsteps comes fast and loud. When he was a little younger, you could confuse his steps with the cats, but not any longer. Now, he sounds like a bowling ball rolling towards the pins.

       He greets me at the door, “Da-da!” He throws his hands up and lungs towards me.

      I just got back from running, so I am all sweaty. He is still moving, almost hopping, his eyes are shining. Yesterday, when I was leaving for the day, I asked him if he wanted a hug, and he ran towards me with his arms out. His right arm is holding onto the fabric of my shirt. His head is buried in my shoulder. I keep trying to see his face in the mirror, but it is just out of reach.