Fifteen dozen children running around screaming like ninnies because it’s November and eighty degrees outside, yanked out of your snug little stroller cocoon and thrust into the arms of your eager yet distracted sister, and still you sleep.
…..
I must remember this when I’m chasing you up bright yellow ladders taller than my outstretched arms and waiting at the bottom of the red tunnel slides for you to appear. It won’t be long, my big four-month-old today. Happy birthday, sleepy one.