I don’t think we know anybody with that name.
Nor anyone by association. Not grandparents. Not close friends or far friends, preschool kids. Nobody.
Which doesn’t that mean it’s not a great name. Or that I shouldn’t be flattered when my son grips my waist and whispers, “I love you, Todd.”
One in the same.
Until last night, it’d been a while since I’d been Todd. The phase had neatly tucked itself away.
Only to resurface as I creaked on both knees to hug my kids goodnight.
“I love you, Todd,” my son snickered. My daughter’s laugh exploded from under the covers. “I’ll pray for Todd,” she volunteered.
I suppressed a smile. Then gave up and grinned. “Thank you, honey,” I said. “‘Cause Todd’s gonna need it.”