Night time chatting

I have no memories of last March. None at all. When I was making Wyeth's baby book and scanning through pictures of last March, I can't recall a single day or moment. The pictures, I took. I am even in some of them. But I was waking up every two hours. To calm. And soothe and feed. And I was in a constant state of haze. Returning to the office in tears after three months at home. Pumping. Working. Driving. Commuting. Sleeping. Not sleeping. Repeat.

This March is different. We sleep. I have actual memories of this month. And I hope to include last night in those memories.

Wyeth and I chatted for a good 15 minutes last night. He had so much to tell me. As if he was waiting until the lights were out to tell me all of his good stories, his funny jokes. He sat in my lap, in the pitch dark, and just talked. Talked about his turtle friend, Webby. And his sister. And Dad and I. And trucks. And chicken nuggets and splashing in the bath.

In reality, I have no idea what he was talking about but talking he did.

I worry, most days, that Wyeth doesn't have enough 'air space' as Seren talks constantly. Sometimes we are required to talk back to her- those are called conversations. Other times, as her Daddy notes, it is a stream of unconsious thought. Wyeth's words are far fewer than his sisters' at this age. And I fear that it is because he doesn't have time to tell us anything. And even when she is quiet, WE are too tired to strike up another version of Itsy Bitsy or the like.

But last night, Wyeth had things to say. Stories to share. And his little babbles would be puncuated by giggles and laughter. Which made me laugh into the dark night. The two of us, me rocking and trying to hum him to sleep; Wyeth talking and giggling and playing with my hair- ignoring my attempts at encouraging rest.

Night time chats, when sleep is close by and the moon is out, are the best.