As usual (as I’m writing this, which is different from when I post it) Adam’s asleep on the couch and the Doodlebug is asleep in his car seat (the only place he’ll now sleep besides right next to me). Our nightly ritual is for me to wake Adam up to go to bed. This night, though, I was up late (okay, late for me; it’s past midnight now), and I shook Adam and said, “It’s time to go to bed. Why’d you let me stay up so late?” And he replied, “I told you this morning, it would take fourteen or two years.” Ah, this game. I play along. “Fourteen or two years for what?” “No, fourteen weeks or two years.” “For what?” “For the dress!” By this time he’s exasperated with me. “The dress for what?” “The dress, the dress. For the whatchamacallit.” “I don’t remember for what it’s for. You tell me. ” “I don’t remember.” Proving he’s awake he peers over at the Doodlebug and asks me, “Is he supposed to be awake?” I turn around and sure enough, the Doodlebug is wide-eyed. I look back at Adam, and he’s already back asleep. I turn back to the Doodlebug and, ditto, he’s already back asleep. True, the Doodlebug wasn’t spouting nonsense. But he will be. How do I know? Because right after he’s fallen asleep, the Doodlebug makes these gurgling noises, babbles to himself, and then lets out a little laugh. The things I have to look forward to.
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