I love talking to a two year-old on the phone.
It goes something like this:
“Hi Xander! Hi Bubbie!”
“What are you doing?”
“Mommy boobies. Mommy nakey butt. Hee hee hee.”
Uh…is your dad watching those movies again?
“Have you been a good boy?”
“Mommy boobies. Hee hee.”
And so on.
Sunday, after almost five days away from them, the family came to pick me up from the hotel in San Diego.
I looked down, and Xander was flapping his hands frantically, trying to figure out how to get to me.
I reached down and grabbed him.
Held him close.
He put his head on my shoulder and I inhaled his scent.
And for only the second time at BlogHer, tears came.
I missed him. He missed me.
The craziness of the past week, the drama, the fun, the connections, the racing around, the stress, the exhaustion, the hilarity – none of it mattered in that moment.
I was back with my family and everything else faded away.