Isaac and I were sitting in his almost black bedroom except for one skinny streak of light coming in through the edge of his door. He had already tried pushing me away and jumping off for a daredevil back-dive. He was finally on my lap, all snuggled in.
His cheek was on my chest with his bottom sticking out toward my knees. We were rocking on his Great Grandma's rocking chair and I was singing him a waltz (doo doo doo, doo-doo. Doo doo. Doo doo. Doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo, doo doo. and so on), and then a Spiritual, and then a made up song from his baby-hood.
After 15 minutes of this, I heard his baby-voice shine through the darkness, softly but very clearly, "Buliobuliobyabya. Gliogloba. Pha."
I knew he was not asleep.
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