Dear Evan:
Yesterday evening, I sat on the floor next to you playing cars. You stood, having created a combination parking lot (for the fire trucks, sports cars, etc.) and construction site (for what you call “mighty machines,” still very much your favorites). I noticed, in a rare quiet moment, that if I slouched a bit, you were as tall as my upper body. It was a startling, happy moment.
That’s an odd statement, I know. Bear with me.
Not so long ago for us, you weren’t even as long as my forearm. I was nervous to hold you in NICU, nervous I would somehow break just a tiny, gangly thing. Months later, once you were home, I could easily cradle you in one arm, head near my elbow, while I worked on my laptop with the free hand.
But there you were, chattering away to the both of us, almost half as tall as me. Height is a big deal to you, and I’m not surprised. Your personality may fill a room (and it does), but you’re still a tiny person living in a place where almost everything is out of reach.
It’s no wonder you idolize your 6’6″ cousin (though you call him uncle) Scott. To you, he can literally touch the sky, the moon, the clouds.
But don’t let him have all the fun. You’ll get there. You’ll be tall, like me, like your mother, like your cousins (Scott and otherwise), like my brother and sister.
No matter how tall, though, I’ll always want to cradle you in the nook of my arm.
I love you,
Daddy
