Wolfgang Falls Asleep: When Is It Going To Be Morning Time?

The lights are out. Finally. The covers are drawn. Finally. All is quiet. Or so I think.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Wolfgang?”

“When is it going to be morning time?”

“When you wake up.” I am not trying to be glib, but I am trying to end the conversation.

“No. WHEN is it going to be morning time?”

“When? 7am,” I say. I don’t want him to wake up before 7am so I try the subliminal methodology.

He is quiet. Again. So long, I am hopeful that he is asleep.

“Mommy?”

“I’m still here,” I say.

“When is it going to be morning time?”

“7am,” I repeat.

This time it works. The quiet sticks. His arm is limp. I creep out of his room. And know he’ll be asleep at least until 7am.

Conversations with my son tend toward the profound when the lights go out.

Conversations with my son tend toward the profound when the lights go out.

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