“Mama, lay down and sing,” said the 2-year-old in the dark room.
“OK,” I complied, snuggling up next to my tucked-in boy — a teddy bear beneath his arm and a fat little thumb propped in his mouth.
“What song?” I asked.
“Twinkle star,” he said quietly.
And so I sang. “Twinkle, Twinkle, little star…” I began.
And soon, he softly begin to sing along.
“How I wonder what you are…” we sang together.
“Up above the world so high…”
Sometimes he skipped a word. “Like… diamond… sky…”
And as we sang, his little fingers walked across my face and stroked my hair and made sure I was there, right beside him. Word after word, song after song, my sweet little boy just sang along. All the way through twinkling stars and baaa-ing black sheep. All the way through sunshine, only sunshines and spiders crawling up the spout.
When we finished singing in the dark room, I stroked his soft hair and kissed his soft cheek and whispered, “I love you. Sweet dreams.”
And the house was still. The stars danced in the skies. And me and my boy dreamed of lullabies.