For a person who’s conversational skills consist mostly of randomly listing modes of transportation (“Bike. Car. Pwane. Pwane. Pwane…”) and repeating the word “hi!” I find young Roan Grace Morgan Millar to be some of the best company I could ever imagine.

In fact, I love the youngster so much it makes me wonder how one’s heart could possibly stand fatherhood. I guess the sleepless nights and mountains of shitty diapers paint a more balanced picture…

Even still, it’s perplexing.

He has, of course, strengthened his cuteness case by being almost entirely tantrum free thus far in Europe. Although he did throw a mini-tantrum this morning because he didn’t want me to leave for work. He just hugged me and said “no” anytime I tried to put him down. And when I finally could put off work no longer, he started to cry.

Did the ensuing wailing make me find him less cute? Not by a long shot. Those tears were mirrored by my own internal tears of joy at being, even if just for 15 sweet minutes, the favourite.