Today, you went down the big water slide by yourself. Another first. Another barrier broken. At the top, I waved to you and gave you our signal - a hand motion that means "I love you" in sign language. You smiled and slid on down.
Giving you that sign has become one of our rituals. A last little send off at school. A message I can slip you when I catch you looking around for something. A small amount of affection I'm allowed to send across the room.
Small affections everywhere - becoming so ubiquitous that you notice less that they are there, and more when they are not.
And that's what we have always intended. The kind of childhood where you know someone will be waiting at the bottom for you. Someone picking you up on time after school. Someone loving you No. Matter. What.
What I did not expect, was that you return the love in so many ways. Gifts. Notes. Hugs. I love them all. Some so much they make my heart skip a beat or two.
Maybe, just maybe, you can kill with kindness? But I am ok with that because it's going to be a long, happy, and contented death.
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