The Hatchling’s adoring aunt has taken her for the evening so that Mr. Squab and I are free to do some much needed cleaning. (I’ve been longing to get some cleaning done, a statement which probably just made my mother fall off her chair. Suffice it to say that if I’m looking forward to cleaning, the situation is truly dire.) About 10 minutes after they’ve left:
Mr. Squab: Goddammit!
Me: What’s wrong?
Mr. Squab (holding some of the Hatchling’s clothes): These are so damn cute. Man. (frowns)
Me: Miss her?
Mr. Squab: Yes! I shouldn’t. There’s no reason to, but I do! Why is that?
Squab: Um, because she’s so damn cute?
Mr. Squab: She makes me so frustrated sometimes when she’s here, but as soon as she’s gone I want her back.
Squab: I think that’s called being a parent.