daddy's home.

brett & ev-1 Sometimes when I look at Everett, I can see the tiny wheels spinning in his head, brain working at full speed trying to figure out cause and effect and all that jazz.

If I push this button, the batmobile will make a noise! If I stack this cup on top of that cup, together they will make a tower! If I stand on my box of blocks, I can climb on top of the coffee table!

He's learning stuff, which never ceases to amaze me, because all things considered, I'm not really teaching him a whole lot. Sure we read and name things out loud and sometimes I show him how to do stuff, but for the most part, Ev is figuring out the way the world works all by himself.

What an incredible and terrifying realization.

Yesterday he picked up the remote control, pointed it at the TV, and pushed the red button to turn it on. Say what?! I have certainly not taught my one year old how to operate the television, but there he was, confident as all heck, raising the remote control (which is as big as his arm) straight at the TV like he had been using it his entire life.

Where did my baby go?

He's not talking yet, but he babbles constantly, often with confidence. I'm noticing that even though I can't understand him, he understands me. He knows when I say we're going "bye bye" that we're about to leave the house, and he knows when I say "night night" that it's time for a nap. He knows "bath" and "time to brush your teeth!" and "ew, poop!" and a handful of other words.

But my favorite of all of these is one of the first phrases he learned: "daddy's home!"

For the past year, every day when Brett gets home from work and I hear the garage door open, I look at Everett and smile as big as I can, and say with excitement, "Ev! Daddy's home!!!"

And no matter where we are in the house, in a bedroom or in the kitchen or sitting on the floor playing with blocks, Everett's eyes quickly turn towards the door in joyful anticipation. He usually starts to giggle and semi-hyperventilate. Brett walks through the door and says, "Where's my boy?!" as Everett squeals with delight. He practically pushes himself away from me to jump into Brett's arms.

Every day, it's as if they haven't seen each other in months, when in fact it's only been 9 or 10 hours. And every day I think to myself, this. I don't ever want to forget this. I don't ever want Everett to not be excited when Brett comes home from work. I'm sure someday he'll be a moody teenager and won't care about anything at all, especially the whereabouts of his parents, but for now, for today, and for as long as I can, we will do this. We will sit on the floor together staring at the garage door with smiles on our faces waiting for daddy to make his grand entrance.

Everett, if I only manage to teach you one thing before your second birthday, I want it to be this: daddy coming home from work is worth celebrating. He's worth all the smiles and giggles and hyperventilating your little heart can stand.