15 September 2010


Good morning, Eamon Wolfe. Time to greet the world.

(By the way, your father hates when I call you "Eamon Wolfe."

"As opposed to all those other Eamons out there?" he snorts, because we spent a long, long time looking for a distinctive name so that you would never have to be "Eamon Wolfe" in your grade school classes, and then I go and call you "Eamon Wolfe" all the time anyway. Because it is that sort of name.)


Eamon Wolfe, would you like to go to the park today?


There's so much to do at the park.

There's the slide.

And great metal poles to drum on.

And races with your daddy (which you always seem to just barely win).

And you love the other kids, especially the older ones. You toddle up to them expectantly, as if to say, "Hello! I'm here to be your friend and play with you!" but of course you can't say all that yet. And the older kids just roll their eyes and run around you. Sometimes I have to remind them not to push you out of the way. And you don't exactly understand why they just ignore you, because you are a Big Boy now, and you just want to be friends and play.

So we take you on the slide again to distract you.
And you have fun, because you are doing Big Boy things on this beautiful Saturday.

And all I can think is: Sigh. There goes my baby.

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