You often fuss right before you go to sleep – eyes closed – you’re definitely on your way – but unwilling to relinquish your hold. Almost always, though, you turn on your left side and find, by sweeping your hand across your face, your left thumb. Then you reach over with your right hand and hold the extended pinky of your left. And then you’re gone.

Dad’s entry:

The mornings are nice. The three of us bunched together, well comforted with the best blankets and Gram’s quilt. The house is cold, but it’s warm and snuggly in bed. Your back pressed against mine, or maybe me hugging your ma with you on the far side. Some times in the early morning I wake to the brush of your hand or your lightly kicking feet. Your ASL name sign is an “N” with the wrist stretched back as far as it will go — your seraphic stretch is THE morning contagion. Your Ma and I watch it and yawn and flex legs and shoulders and snuggle deeper into bed for a little more. Your Ma usually takes a bath while I change you and play a little and then tuck you back in for a little more sleep. I leave so early now, I kiss you and miss you both all day and day dream about the weekend ahead.

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