Thinking About My Dad

I often end up thinking about my own dad when I play with my son. I guess that's natural really, maybe cathartic. I think about what I'm doing with my little boy, making him laugh and giggle and run around with his hands flapping. I think about when I was my son's age and my father playing with me in the same way.

Its hard to know just how much you are going to miss someone until they are gone. I think about that while loving my son and feeling very vulnerable. I look forward to so much with him, I look forward to him waking up from his nap.

I wonder if my dad played around with me in the same way. I wonder if he blew raspberries on my tummy, I wonder if he knew just where to tickle, I wonder if he knew just the right height to carry me so that my head could cradle under his neck and chin. I'm sure he did.

I wonder if my dad wrinkled his nose up at a gnarly poo-filled diaper. I wonder what he sang to me when I was almost ready to go to sleep. I wonder if he savored those moments that he spent with me. I hope he did. I know I do.
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