Harry is 19 months old today.
Last June, in his 7-month-letter, I wrote this:
Your daddy and I were quite happy in the days before you. We had a good, fun life. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, but it’s like you came along and someone turned on all the lights in a house that I didn’t even know was dark.
And gosh, is that still true. He is such a joy.
Just tonight we sat on the floor outside his bathroom, and he leaned forward to touch his forehead to mine over and over and just giggled and giggled. I read once where the sound of a child’s laughter triggers a flood of feel-good chemicals in a parent’s brain, and boy do I believe it. Just the memory of his belly laugh makes me feel better.
I luff him.
