I dreamed ...

... I sailed into port on a boat just made for the gentle swell. The sun was shining and it was thirty degrees celsius and the coast stretched away endlessly until it disappeared and life was just a dream and I wondered about how GREAT it was to be able to sleep so long into the endless summer day when suddenly...

... I woke at probably 3.30, maybe 4 o'clock, on a freezing Melbourne August night. No. Morning.

By the plaintive cry of the baby-who-needs-either-to-feed-or-to-be-changed.

It was my 'turn' to change the baby.

I've been warned not to lock eyes with him at night. Because they have to sleep.

So I try not to. Or to not. Does 'not' come before 'to'? Or does 'to' come before 'not'? And who cares? Whatever. What am I, a grammar expert? Not at this time of night ... morning.

Thoughts like these invade my mind when I am trying not to look into the eyes of the gorgeous living, beautiful, hand-waving, leg-kicking creature that entered our lives nine weeks ago and wants to play - at four in the morning.

T. was still. But I thought I saw a flicker in her eye as she watched me change William.

*

She didn't stir again for a few hours. Nor did William.

They slept.

He has her eyes.