It was Roby’s first birthday, and it was a good day. We went on a nice walk, she slept in my arms and her grandpa got chainsaw fever and helped clear half the forest on the south side. We made loads of food and loads of good people showed up. We talked and ate and walked and sat by a big giant fire with our friends and we talked about Roby and kids, there were like a dozen of them here at different times. 

But I think the thing I might remember most clearly, a year from now, or ten years from now, is when, at the end of the night after opening presents and drinking beer with friends, Roby and I went up and got changed into jammies in the dark. 

There was no power so the lights were off, we listened to New Order on my phone and I kissed her tummy and made silly sounds and she giggled until I got her jammies o then we went downstairs and she wore the birthday crown her auntie made her. 

She tried going to bed, but despite having barely had a nap and meeting dozens of people and partying by the fire, she wanted to wiggle more. So she’s wiggling still, as I write this. I’m having to dodge her little fingers and pay her due attention. 

So that’s what I’m going to do, instead of making this blog any longer.