On the day we met, it was your birthday — not your first birthday; the one before that.
It was one of those gorgeous fall days that make you wish fall would last forever. The sun was shining all day long. In the morning it was crisp, cold enough you think you need gloves. But by mid-afternoon, you don’t even need a sweater.
On the day we met, I found out about you first thing when I woke up. Your daddy said I should come see you that night.
You looked all scrunchie and crabby, but you were actually so calm and mellow. You made little noises — you hooted. You covered your face with your hands a lot.
On the day we met, your momma was joyful. Your daddy was confident. They were both fearless. “It’s a baby, not a dinosaur,” your daddy said.
We had some dinner, and we laughed and talked about Casey’s pizza and flipping mattresses and the magical powers of belly buttons. Your momma insisted that she was happy to see us, even though she must have been so tired. Eventually we said goodnight, and I drove back home through the darkness, already anticipating the next time I would get to see you.
My nephew Henry David, born November 8, 2012, 5:00 AM, 9 lbs. 11 oz.