The Kids Are...

Worrisome.

Terrible sleep last night.

Fire trucks.

Yodeling cats galumphing through the house.

Dreams of hurt children. Running to get them out of the ball pit.

Wendy, shrieking out of her bed and into ours.

Climbing over the kid and the man-have to pee again and again and again and again...

This one is different from the last one. Quieter. He doesn't tell me as much about himself as she did, with her constantly climbing jabbing insisting limbs (that didn't quit once she left my body) but I'm different too. A little older and more broken-in. Muscles and joints less interested in warping into new shapes.

Ridiculous to keep kick-counts over days already full of feeding the family, crying, laughing, candy land, laundry, lawyers, library trips, emailing, errands-

-then abruptly realizing, in the semi-dark, head on the pillow, trucks and cats and Carl's sinuses groaning in my ears, that I HAVE NO IDEA when it was when the baby last said hello.

awakenowreadytocount-OKGO.

tick.
tick.
tick.
doesn't kick. doesn't kick.
hospitals tests who do I call what do I do if-tick tick tick-nothing-tick-tick-

-kick.
*breathe*
-kick
*breathe*
-roll. kick. (all right?)

All right.

I love you. I'm glad you're getting more sleep than I am. Thank you for humoring your mom. I love you.