Noam

I'll have you know, it took everything I had to ignore you, resist your charms. You could always double them, somehow, when it's time to sleep. Emotional manipulation will get you far in this world, but it's not yet time to know that, or your limits.

After some play, some futile singing, I tried it your mother's way which was to allow you to lull yourself to sleep. I had to pretend to sleep (a talent I learned as a child and never thought would be of any use after independence), had to turn away from your darling babble, your catalog of colors in the half-darkness, your list of relations.

Did not help that I heard your first pronoun tonight, the possessive "ko" for your navel which, because of your yet unarticulated hiss, resulted in "puyod ko".

Your navel, surely, so never forget. Also, that you succeeded where I failed, sang yourself to sleep after six rounds of eensie weensie spider, at one point drumming the pillow, but your head now on it, and your hand under the belly. Good night, water spout.