Miss you nights

I miss the boy running unsteadily to the door when I come home.

I miss him pulling out the wash basket for my work clothes.

I miss a hug.

I miss his lop-sided smile.

I miss the chatter.

Most of all, I miss him saying "Dada".

But there are still flashes of him coming out, like when he shakes his head when I say it's time for bath and when he wags an accusing finger at Mummy when she gets ready to have a bath with him.