The baby and I walk home from day care together as the sun is setting. “Crow!” he says to each crow. “Airpane!” to each airplane. We stop every few blocks so I can look at him and kiss him in the crease where his nose meets his cheek. His dad, I know, is home making dinner, and will gasp and then yell from the kitchen, “You’re home” as soon as we walk through the door. We will all stand there together in a hug. We are a family. Somehow it happened. Somehow I let it. Or else it happened despite me. In the end I find it doesn’t matter.
