New York: first weekend of August.

On Friday, Hugo and I took the train into the city. I had a race for the Children's Rescue Mission the next day (9 years ago!), and we made a date out of it. It's so rare that I have half a day with just Hugo, and I can't quite put into words how wonderful it was. I showed him my old running spots, where we used to bring Gus to the dog park, the street we lived on when he was just a flutter in my belly. We stopped for donuts at Chelsea Market after the race and waited on Blake and Maisie to arrive. 

When I tucked him into bed on Saturday night, Hugo told me that his favorite part of the day was running with me. A small thing, really, and four-year-olds are quick to forget. Their mamas are not, however. As long as I live, I will remember this as one of our very best days: his sweaty palms, the way he curled his head into my neck as he fell asleep to the noise of city traffic, his whole body leaning forward into the breeze along the Hudson. 

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