Da!

Then tonight, you were sitting in your high chair and I was spooning yogurt mixed with pears between your gums and you were watching Daddy, your eyes following as he walked from the kitchen and through the living room. You craned you neck to follow his figure as he mounted the stairs and you called, clearly and loudly "Da!" Loudly and clearly enough the Daddy stopped in his tracks and looked at me and I looked at him and back at you and then back at him.

What commenced was a five minute discussion about whether you'd actually known what you were saying, whether you actually attach that specific sound to your father, and whether you'd do it again.

You didn't, of course.

And you're unlikely to do it again at the moments we most expect it.

Instead we're forced to remain humble and attentive. And open to the possibility that any moment might change everything.