Dear J,

As we travel the great circuit of the downstairs area of our home, you lay across my arms. Your feet are draped across my left arm, your head rests on my right arm, and the middle of you sinks down a bit where there isn’t any more of me to catch you.

This reminds me of my two older brothers when we would all three sit in the back of our parents’ car. I would sit in the middle so I could lay across them – legs draped across one, head resting on the other. I owe them a lot of naps, but I suppose I’ll pay that debt off to you.

We pass into the kitchen and you look out the sliding glass door at your pup, sitting in the sun, glaring at the strangers pulling furniture out of a moving truck. Once in a while, she points her nose straight up into the air, sniffing whatever new smell has drifted across our patio.

Next, we go past the refrigerator, into the hallway by the stairs. You look up suddenly as if something has caught your eye. I look up too to see our popcorn ceiling. I don’t understand it either, buddy. But I’m glad you find it interesting.

We turn left, walk down the hallway and into the dining room. You start making little groaning noises like a tiny Mongolian throat singer. This is a good sign. Lately, you have begun, as far as I can tell, trying to talk yourself out of falling asleep. You almost never succeed, giving your tired parents a glimmer of hope for some time together whenever you start singing.

Another left and we’re in the living room, next to the kitchen. Your eyes are fluttering. I try switching positions so that your little body is upright, pressed against mine. You accept the shift and nuzzle your head into my shoulder. Your arms spread as far as they can to either side of me, that’s a hug in my book.

And then, as we pass back into the kitchen, the most amazing thing happens. Your right hand reaches up behind me, resting on the back of my neck, and wonder of wonders, you start making a scratching motion with your hand.

Now, as we make the second loop through the house, and a third, my son is scratching the back of my head. And I can’t help but think to myself: I know parenting is worth it, but I didn’t think it would start to feel that way so soon.

So all this to say, thanks for the head scratch, J, you’re already starting to pull your weight in this family.

Yours,

S