If we were having coffee, I’d tell you about about my incredible 18-month-old son and how he likes to call mommy and daddy’s coffee “hot-hot.” I’d tell you how, when I get home from work in the morning, he squeals “Dadoo!” at me when I walk in his room to scoop him up. We head out and let mom, my incredible wife, continue to catch a few more Zzz’s, while we make breakfast, which, here lately, has been French toast. The smell of cinnamon, fresh coffee, and his sticky, syrupy fingers fill the kitchen and dining area as we listen to some music on Pandora and talk about whether or not he slept well and about what we’ve got on the agenda for the day. Our chats always lead to laughter, whether it be from some new quirk he’s come up with or from classical lines that have become commonplace in our conversations and musings. Afterwards, we whip up some more toast and take momma her breakfast in bed. I’d tell you that this slice of my day, this routine, and the incredible bonding moments surrounding it, fills my life with such richness, love, and complete and utter joy that it is near incomprehensible. The love of this father for his child extends to the furthest depths of human imagination.
If we were having coffee, that’s what I’d tell you. What would you tell me?