When you are about to become a parent you really don’t think about the 6-week-old pooping and eating machine that doesn’t acknowledge your existence.
You think about what happened this morning as I left for work. Olive following me to the front door, waving goodbye and then pressing her hands and face against the glass of the storm door as I walked to the car. I could still hear her saying “Dada! Dada!” from across the street. Not a bad way to start my day.
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