He’s two months old. I’d originally dubbed him Sweet Baby James after the James Taylor song, but he’s been upgraded to the King. He’s running the show around his house. And his mother has requested we do a mini-session every month. “Is that too much?” The question was rhetorical. Because, no. No. No. No. It’s not too much. Babies change each day. And since a month ago, this guy’s learned to laugh and coo and wow he’s just cuter by the second. And he was baptized in that gown that’s been worn for a couple generations and passed from baby to baby. His mother wore it, too.
“These are the initials of my sister who died,” she showed me with a sigh.
“I don’t think I knew – ” I apologized, “Maybe I did, but I’ve forgotten.” And with that, we discussed life and death and relationships and babies and my upcoming honeymoon and all over the course of 30 minutes while King James took center stage watching our every move. Off I went, a little better than I came. Life is precious. Just like Sweet Baby James. Next month can’t come soon enough.