Little man

You are growing up without me.

I speak to Charlene every week and she tells me about how he's doing. This baby baby baby honey pie isn't a baby anymore, no sir-ee, he's a little boy. He blabs to himself all the time and I wish so bad that I was there to smush my fingers with his and be annoyed by tantrums all the time. He doesn't speak properly yet, and still, he's bilingual. Cha told him to say goodbye to me over the phone, and she goes, "say bye bye!" and he goes "chjoes".
She says when he wants to look in mommy's coffee cup he says, "cubby", and he calls all food "nana" after his favourite fruit.
He pokes his finger into his belly button, complains because it hurts, and then a few minutes later does it again.

I'm not going to get all Dooce and address him directly, and besides, I didn't push him out so I don't think I'm entitled.
But I'm his aunty, I hope I'm his favourite aunty, the one he used to headbang when I had the littlest bit of time with him last year. He loved his birthday present from me, and the cake he ate for his very first birthday was the one I baked the day before I left my home to start anew in a different place.

And now he's becoming the small person I got a slight impression of back then, it's all coming out and emerging and I'm missing every day of it. I hope he remembers me.

Vientjie vientjie baba!