Far from home

Living far from my wife and our baby wouldn't be so difficult if it were not for the great moments that I miss every day. In the last few weeks my son started walking - I wasn't there to witness his first steps. He's learned to punch (with his little fist); the first (and main) victim was his cousin, a little girl 4 months his senior, who until that point always beat him. He has, in the last few weeks, developed an interest in chasing and torturing the cat; he follows it wherever it goes and, gripping it by its fur, "plays" with it. Poor, patient animal: I'm so thankful that it hasn't scratched him so far.

I miss him so much that every time we talk I ask my wife to hold the phone close to him so I can hear his breathing. He tries to grab the phone and, once he does, doesn't give it back. He bites his mother, his uncles, his cousin. He probably tries to bite the cat when he's on his own.

I look forward to seeing him walk, even run, the day we meet. I even secretly wish that he'll run towards me and I'll lift him up high, landing kiss after kiss on his cheeks and neck. Except that this is wishful thinking. Because it is very likely he'll not recognise me when we meet. He probably won't have forgotten me completely by that time, but he'll not easily recognise me either.

Thus, when I think about the sacrifice that I'm making, the rewards of this self-imposed exile seem very dubious.