A homecoming dinner at Wildfire restaurant.
My new nephew and godson, Colin, was born last August while I was in Barcelona. Which means that, when I finally met him, he was fourteen months old. Fourteen months old. I guess, to him, it didn’t really matter, because he’s at the age where he won’t remember anything that was up over the past year anyways. And when we went out to dinner last week I was just another face who brought him a toy.
But, to me, it’s a little hard. Because I’m not sure if I ever will have children of my own. My nephews are all I have. These are the things that make it hard to travel full time. To be away for over a year. Plus I wasn’t able to document his first year in the way that I did with my first nephew, Dylan.
I’m still not quite sure Dylan, who was two and a half when I left, quite remembered who I am. But he would still give me a kiss on command and could hold a conversation. Well, as much of a conversation as you can have when all you can understand is “babblebabblebabble train babblebabblebabble train babblebabblebabble train…”
Apparently others can understand the other words. But I am pretty deaf.
I told Dylan to make a scary face…
and then a surprised face…
I don’t think he quite gets that game yet.
p.s. I ate a lot of meat that night. A. lot. of. meat. And mashed potatoes.