David. Sunday morning. I am still in my pajamas and only half-awake when I hear your mom’s knock at our door. And there you are, too. In your green shirt and boy shorts. Your first tan. Your hair all raised up like a monster’s into golden spikes of sunblock. Today, you’ve come to show me how you’ve learned to say “auntie.” And when you smile at me this morning, as I jump over the balcony to scoop you out of your stroller, you seem so full of recognition that I’m stung by a million bumble bees of love for you. I pour your mom a cup of coffee and we watch your little tick-tock of a walk around the patio. You move like an impatient clock with a fluttering beat of a heart. Time moves with you, with every airplane and crow that your eyes and ears have learned to catch. Later, you ask for ice and grab big rocks of it to dissolve over your bright, red gums. All those teeth at one-year old! New words every day now. If I don’t see you for three days, the next time you’re a whole new little boy. Watching you grow is such a miracle. I had to write it down.
Photo from Lovely Design.