Lullaby

I love you, bub. You know that I think. But it's really very important that you fall asleep right now and stay asleep. At least for long enough for me to sit down with wine and read a bit.

Long enough for some of the ache from today to seep out of me and into the sofa. For me to start to feel a little more like me than I do right now - to remember that I am a person who likes art and music and poetry and who can talk reasonably intelligently about current events. Just sleep long enough for me to clean the kitchen floor ready for you to lick it tomorrow. Licking floors seems to be your new thing.

And if you could give me enough time to talk to your father about something other than you, that'd be great. We love talking about you but we need to make sure we remember the roots of us as well. You came from those roots.

My love, just sleep long enough for me to find my place within today - to understand that the day was not defined by your refusing to nap or your newfound ability to Houdini away from any and all attempts to change you. There were smiles and giggles today. You saw your first rabbit and there were moments where I could see you learning something for the very first time.

Just sleep a little longer, sweet boy. But if you wake and you need me, I'll be there.