Monday, December 23, 2013

The Way of the Ships

He talks in his sleep.

He gets it from me.

It is, most definitely, one of those things that falls into the "nature" category.

I check on them every night. Every. Single. Night. To make sure they're still breathing. I don't know why. They're seven and four and, for heaven's sake, if they weren't still breathing, it might be better to get one last good night of sleep before spending the duration of my lifetime in gut-wrenching grief.

I place a hand on them. Usually this makes them turn over because my hands are always ice cold. Turning over is good because turning over means they are still alive. If they don't move, my hand feels the rise and fall of their tiny chests which also means they are still alive. So far, so good. They've always been still alive.

The other night I placed my hand on Garrett's chest. He immediately began to speak to me. "Mommy! Mommy!" It sounded incredibly urgent.

"What?" I whispered.

"Can you go back down?"

I was standing on his brother's bed so that I could reach him on the top bunk and, at first, I thought he was annoyed that I was touching him and wanted me to get down. But then he followed up his question with, "You know, like how the ships get on?"

How the huh does what now?

" you want me to?" I asked him, amused.

"Yes. Please," he answered. Then he burrowed his little self deep into his covers and stopped talking.

So I got down. But I have no idea if I did it the way the ships get on.

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