I wait at a crossing with you and tell you we must wait for the green man to light up. You grin at me from beneath layers of coat and hat, your tiny face a shining beacon that makes me feel so much stronger. I see your mummy's face mingled with my own features in you. I see her strength and determination in you already.
We go home and you wait patiently for me to get you out of your outdoor things so you can play with your toys in the living room. I put on the TV and we cuddle a bit while I play you old cartoons from my own childhood. We play, you stand up a few times, and one time I am too late to catch you when you fall. Your tears hurt me. I hold you and tell you I'm sorry I didn't catch you, and that I love you. You turn to me and sniff, then kick your legs against me and laugh. All is well again. You're perfect, and I am once again astounded that I helped to create you.
I sit you in your high chair and struggle to get the straps from underneath your bottom so I can slip your arms through them. I should have thought of that before, but you don't mind me lifting you a bit to get to them as your favourite show is on TV and your little eyes are glued to animated antics. I call your name once you're safely strapped in and you have a bib on.
You look at me and say “Da-da-nanana-da-sheee” while I scoop a spoonful of dinner up ready for you. You take it from the spoon and a little ends up on your cheek. You are so beautiful, my son. You sit there enjoying your dinner with me, and I resist the urge to admire the adorable fact you have only got one sock on, as I should be concentrating on feeding you.
I read your bedtime story to you later on, and you watch me from beneath heavy eyelids before you drift off into dreams. I check on you in the night. Maybe too often. I can't help it. I love you my boy, and being your daddy is the most wonderful experience of my life. I am so grateful for you my son. I hope you know. I really hope you know.
