I was downstairs vacuuming the car and you were on the balcony with your mum. You keep on calling “dada!” “dada!” and I keep on answering “Why?” “Yes, Kenzo?” it is a barrage of calling and answering that lasted for a few minutes. I didn’t get irritated (why should I?). I find it sweet and I know as you get older calling me would be lesser and lesser. You will learn to be independent, you will solve your own problems and hurdle life on your own etc…
But That is getting way, way, way ahead.
For the meantime, I cherished the fact that—- I AM DADA.