This Still Won’t Be a Proper Post, But….
I was only gone three nights, but Baby Dog seemed noticeably older to me when I return. More mature. She was standing in the living room, playing with Halmonie when I walked in the front door. She looked at me with jaw-dropped amazement, which turned into a big grin. Had she thought I wasn’t coming back? Who knows. I tried to explain every night for a week before I went away: “Daddy’s going on a trip. He’ll be gone tomorrow, which is Thursday, and he’ll be gone on Friday and Saturday, but he’ll come back Sunday.” By the time I left, she was repeating the whole spiel back to me, but I don’t think she understood much of it. The first thing she said to me on my return was “Kiss,” so I knelt down to give her one. She patted my stubbled face. “Beard,” she said. “A little bit,” I answered. “Do you want Daddy to grow his beard back?” “Beard,” she replied, patting my chin again.