Yesterday he really grasped how to eat as he wolfed down the Irish stew Lady Steed made for St Paddy's. He loved the potatoes and carrots and mutton.
And today, as I left for work, he crawled as fast as he could in his jagged halting way to the front door, crying, aware that his father was leaving him. He's never caught on to that before --- what my walking to the door in the morning means. Adding his painful separation to my morning routine will lead to mutual daily heartbreak. And I just don't feel up to that. It's too hard.