Toemaar vannaand

Last night I fell asleep with you on your bed (on the floor) again. The days’ stress drifted away from me like the clouds breaking into playful tufts in-front of the half-lit moon. 

A night jar was calling outside and I whispered Ingrid Jonker’s Donker Man in your little ear. You were too tired to protest bedtime like you normally do these days. 

I held your sleepy growing body in a soft fleece onesie (with white hearts) a little closer tonight. In a dreamy muddle, I realised that it was already becoming a memory as it happened. When I woke up, you were sleeping and softly snoring. When both of you are sleeping, I actually miss your toddler cacophonies of giggles and sporadic shrieks, between the general noise of growing up.

The house is so quiet at 2am. I carefully rolled away from you. I climbed into my own bed – rational, big and cool. I won’t open my computer to work, like I normally do. I don’t feel guilty of falling asleep and not working at all tonight. At this moment, I tiptoe around this delicate feeling that everything is perfect. The world can wait a little while more as I think of you and your sister and I write myself to sleep on my phone …  toemaar, die donker man.

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