He rolls out of my arms where he had been nursing and onto the mattress beside me. I pull the blanket over him as he turns onto his tummy. I rub his back. I listen and wait foer his breathing to deepen.
Maaamaaa he says. Mama. Mmma-mma. Ma-ma. Ma-ma. Ma-ma. Mama!
Chanting the words as if the lyrics to a song he works his way through his ever expanding vocabulary of words.
Da-ie! Da-ie Da-die! Da, da, da, da! Da-ie!
Mai. Mai. Me. Me. Mai me.
Ma-ie. Ma, ma, ma. ma-ie. Ma-ieeeeee!
Over and over and over. Sometimes the words are punctuated with improvised yoga poses. Downward dog. Warrior. Sometimes he stands up and tries to climb the headboard of his bed or walk the length of his mattress.
When I get frustrated I leave the room and then his words turn into cries for me to come back. I do. Or the husband goes and lies beside him. Over and over we repeat that it is time for him to sleep.
But his brain is too busy. He has to make sense of all the things he learnt that day. The new things he saw. The new things he can do. The new things he can say. So he talk and talks and talks. Just like his sister used to do.
Then it stops. All of a sudden the words come to an end. He lays his head down. He sleeps.