L reached another major milestone today: She started saying her own name.

In the scheme of things, this wasn’t much of a surprise; the kid is adding three to four new words to her vocabulary every day. But, as her father, the fact that she now knows what I and her mother chose to name her makes me bask with pride.

Everyone in the house now has a name. I’m “Daddy,” Powergirl is “Mommy” and L is, well, [insert full name here]. We’ve graduated from pronouns to Proper Nouns.

For a writer, that’s a major step.

I have to be honest: I never thought something like this would grab at my heartstrings the way it has. It’s one of the things I’ve noticed about fatherhood; like flash mobs, seemingly tiny accomplishments (or, for that matter, setbacks) instantly and without warning become totally big deals.

On the one hand, this surprise awe can be overwhelming in a bad way—I had no idea I’d cry with joy when L said her name. On the other hand, these unsuspecting emotions are sort of wonderful, enriching every experience by keeping them interesting.

Of course this probably means I won’t react at all when L finally walks. And that’s fine with me.