O Evabird, your 351st day. Or, the day you ran a fever so high I cried, Or, the day that was two weeks shy of your first birthday, Or, the day you held my hand and walked the length of the park, Or, the day you ate sweet potatoes and apples and french fries and olives and buried your head into my chest, into your dad’s chest, into the whole world’s chest, Or, the day I kept saying over and over I love you because suddenly it seems you’re so full of understanding. I love you, I love you, I say. And yes, you seem to say. Yes,yes, yes, you do. And yes, yes, yes, I do.