I was very annoyed yesterday. It matters little why. But when I saw your little face it became possible for me to simply be there in the moment, with you. You had to go back in to have your diaper changed, for a sudden number two. Perhaps you got excited.
I recall a friend of mine, whose dad sat with her in the car, as it rolled down from our school to the exit gantry. Our old school was on a hill. As it stopped there, she couldn't move the car forward again. She then realised that she hadn't switched on the ignition. As she tells it, she looked at her dad, perhaps aghast. Her dad had kept quiet the whole time. Perhaps he smiled a little. I totally understand now. It's funny, but it's somehow funnier inside. She asked, perhaps annoyed, why didn't you say something? Again, I think he smiled a little. It's so funny.
You made a joke yesterday, and you were thrilled by it. I still find myself a little bewildered that you did. I said, Again, I've told you not to do that, OK darling. And you said, Again, Papa? Do again? And you waited for a bit, and started laughing when I couldn't help but start smiling.
You seem to like promises. You have said, several times, that Papa will bring you on the bus one day. Don't worry, I don't forget. I like promises, too.
