“Okay Lily. I need you to cooperate? Hm? Say it after me: da-da”. You say to your ten months old daughter, as she is watching you from your lap.

“Come on. Da-da. Dada. Dada Spencer. Da-da.” You keep on saying, hoping she’ll repeat “dada”, but she just keeps on giggling and reaching out for your hair with her little hand. You sigh, even if the sight is melting your heart.

You knew how much Spencer, your husband, was feeling guilty because of his constant absence due to his demanding job at the FBI: he missed her first little burp, her first steps. And he wanted to be there so badly. That’s why you were trying to get your daughter to say “dada” as her first word. But it seems like she wasn’t picking up on that.

Tonight, Spencer came back earlier than usual and that surprised you. You were holding Lily on your hip while you were trying to cook something.

“DADA!!!!” Lily says, babbling and gesturing at her dad. The moment Spencer heard her he swore he could cry on the spot.

“She said that? She said dada?” He says, as he walks to the two of you, taking Lily in his arms. He was trying so much not to cry happy tears. “You said dada pumpkin? Hm? I’m your dada?” He starts saying to Lily, peppering her little cheeks in kisses.

Job: done.