Sometimes what I need most is a reminder that this special time with my son Tucker is going to be limited, and to make the most of every moment we have.

The other day he and I were playing like we often do with his favorite big green rubber ball (his “BAOW”) in the living room. Tuck loves it. I’ll kick it or throw it, then he’ll chase after it, giggling all the while, and bring it back for more. I’ll encourage him to try throwing it back to me, but his arm is pretty terrible right now so he usually just shoves it at me and then runs away, laughing and trying to anticipate where I’m going to send it flying. It’s a hoot, even if in some ways it’s not unlike playing “fetch” at this point.

We do a lot of running around, and as the old fat one in the game I tend to wear out a lot faster than he does. So this time I ended up eventually sitting down in the desk chair, but continued to toss the ball as he brought it to me.  I’d just watch him joyfully chase after it from my comfy chair is all.

But inevitably, the siren song of the computer called to me, and I started turning away to read snippets of emails/blogs/tweets while he ran around…

At some point the ball bounced back between the couch and the recliner, into a space that Tuck has trouble getting into. He called for me to come help get it.

“BAOW?”

I retrieved it, and the game resumed. Less than a minute later, I was reading something on the computer when I heard him again.

“BAOW? BAOW?”

I try to finish what, at the time, I must have thought was a pretty dang interesting blog post — no idea what it was, now — and figure he can wait.

“BAOW? BAOWWW!”

I look up from the computer, and he’s pointing into the same spot behind the recliner. Again? Fine. I get it for him, and toss the ball further across the room, into the kitchen, hoping it will take him longer to retrieve so I can finish reading.

I’ve barely sat down again when I see him get the ball, then make a bee-line right to where it keeps getting stuck, and I watch as he purposefully drops it back where he can’t get it. He immediately turns to me, hands upturned and shoulders shrugging.

“BAOW?”

You little stinker. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?

He giggles.

“BAOW!”

I make my way over to get the ball out again, and literally Tuck dances with glee.

That’s when it hits me like a ton of brinks: He’s just doing what he thinks will succeed in pulling me away from the computer and force me back to interacting with him.

My little boy — my wonderful, adorable, rapidly-growing little boy — just wants his daddy to stop being distracted and play with him instead.

It’s not that there are not legitimately times that work needs to be done and playtime has to wait. But I know that I don’t have that much longer with him like this. With another baby on the way, things are going to change no matter what. How much longer will I be home with him all day? Who knows! I do know that a time will come when he won’t even want to play with me, and though it might in reality be many years away, in the scope of our lives it will feel the days when we played “fetch” were like a blink in time.

But right now? My little boy wants to play with his daddy.

I almost teared up a little, realizing with striking clarity the proper priorities of my life at that hour. Emails, blog posts and Twitter could wait. Frankly, they almost always can.

This… this can’t wait.

So I did what I had to do.

I dropped to the floor, grabbed him in a bear-hug, and tickled the daylights out of him.