Daddy

The Small Girl came running up to us this morning as DH gave me a hug before he left for work.

“I want to join in the cuddle!” she cried with glee, so DH picked her up and the three of us briefly embraced before the Very Small Boy, sensing he was missing out, came dashing unsteadily over, shouted “hot!” and fell over backwards.

Five minutes later, the children and I gathered as usual at the sitting room window to wave goodbye as DH set off for work. It’s always a poignant moment; the Small Girl and her brother are as reluctant to let him leave as I am (and I often feel like joining them when they cling to his legs in desperation, shouting “please stay!” as he edges towards the front door).

Well, the Small Girl cries “please stay”; her Very Small brother is unable, as yet, to string two words together. And even if he could, the ability wouldn’t come in very useful: he only has two words in his vocabulary, and there aren’t really any meaningful phrases one can make out of “hot” and “Daddy”.

The Very Small Boy’s second word began as a kind of rolling “da-da-da-da-da”, and has evolved into a very well-enunciated “da-dee, da-dee ”, shouted with great gusto every time DH walks into the room, and accompanied by the pit-pat pit-pat of Very Small feet as he dashes quickly over with his arms stretched out to be picked up.

I find it desperately moving that the children love their Daddy so much. Sharing the undisguised glee they feel when DH returns from work each evening is the most joyful part of my day, and seeing the delight on the Very Small Boy’s face moves me especially: it’s as if he were thinking to himself "thank God – there’s another man here at last!”.

He has even perfected a Very Small wave to use each morning as we assemble at the window for our ritual goodbye: arm raised, little fish clenching and unclenching. Words fail me when it comes to explaining to the Very Small Boy where DH has actually gone though – there is no language I can use to help a 14 month old baby understand concepts like “work” or “later”.

And so it is that I often find myself, during the day, standing before the window comforting the Very Small Boy as he tries to make sense of his Daddy’s absence, his little chubby hand raised forlornly as he waves at the indifferent, leafless trees outside.