The night after the sweet sweet sleep, I exiled myself back to the desert.

The kids stayed up too late.

There was an insistence on building a zoo only for giraffes. Windowed enclosures. A stacked tower with a pointed attic for a small figurine who lived alone.

Books were chosen and read.

Then detours for snacks, water, milk, bathroom, the usual reasons to get out of bed.

Past a certain point, sleep goes missing. What is left is the last dregs of energy condensed into a fierce ball. Any spark can set off hysterical laughter, crying, or singing.

Happy birthday to you, and you, and you.

My partner’s name over and over like an incantation.

A burp.

More laughter.

The laughter is one of my favorite parts of the day. No edge, no self-consciousness, just joy and delight unleashed.

They amp each other up. Building and building until one collapses.

Eventually the laughter fades.

Someone goes still, breathing slows.

Someone else, pushed beyond their limits, comes apart.

This is my least favorite part.

A little body needs to calm down, but can no longer find comfort. Limbs strike out against the mattress, the wall, me. I am pushed away, pulled back. I get an elbow to the temple, a foot in the ribs. Whines, wails, whirly sounds, yells for bikes, cheese, outside, and yes, sometimes croissants.

Eventually, a last burst.

Then silence.

The smart thing would be to sleep whenever sleep is available.

Eyes shut at 8, 9, 10. A chance of stringing together enough slivers.

Sometimes they stay up. Sometimes they wake me.

I often do the wrong thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time between when they collapse and when I do is all mine.

It is the old math problem, now with the other variable.

Not work. Not parenting.

My phantom limb.

I feel like I’m sneaking around with the dark. Thinking of the next time, wondering what excuse to use. Just a little longer.

I can’t keep doing it.

I need to sleep.

But then I think about the first time they said I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was startled.

Because I realized I had never said it to them.

They learned it at daycare.

Now they run through the house shouting it in high sweet voices, the L not quite there yet, dissolving into laughter.

They say it back and forth because it is funny. Because the room changes when they do.

A call and response.

My partner and I say it back carefully, like a phrase we just looked up.

We are more fluent in remembering the water bottles. Noticing which snacks are reached for first. Never being caught out in the wrong clothes for the weather.

Building on the thing they are creating until we are all riding on a steam train with a conductor playing ukulele while feeding imaginary carrots to imaginary blue donkeys out the windows, saying choo choo.

It feels good to hear it, though it floats a bit apart. Flattened by translation.

So I swoop them up one by one and carry them upside down or on my back, making them shriek, faces glowing, my partner’s dimples appearing in each cheek.

Statistics: Posted by penumbra — Sun May 24, 2026 11:26 am

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