Don't forget about me

Every two weeks I visit my son in Austin. I always ask myself one question before he sees me:
"Will Noah remember me?''
I mean, just how much memory does a 9-month old have?
A ton, I guess. Last Saturday, when I got to his mother's house, he was asleep in his car seat. I leaned in to kiss him on his forehead and he woke up. There was silence for a split second. Then he started giggling.
Ok, I remember thinking, he remembers me.
I do a lot of things during my stay to make sure he knows who I am.
I play with him rougher than his mom does. (Don't worry, I don't throw him off a building for luck like some people do.)
I also run his little fingers through my nappy hair, which of course, is much much much different from his mother's hair.
He said "Ma-ma" a few times over the weekend, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous.
But he enjoys playing with me.
I know he does.
And that's good enough.