All i want for my birthday is to be able to sleep…

1.15am, can’t sleep. Work, house-buying and i-haven’t-heard-or-seen-Leo-for-a-few-minutes-so-he’s-probably-about-to-die-or-at-least-fall-very-ill going through my head.
Turning 33 today, i think i have finally worked out what getting older is all about. I haven’t become any better at coping with anything, or more adept at actually getting stuff done, but I’ve advanced my disaster-awareness. So i can’t sleep.
Leo, on the other hand, doesn’t bluff because there’s no obligation on him. From inside or out. Toy no longer fun? Throw it away. Jigsaw doesn’t fit? Scream at it. Food horrible? Don’t eat it, yoghurt will arrive shortly.
I know it’s late at night, but i feel a terrible desire to protect him from ennui. Terrible because i want so much to keep him safe; but it’s also a terrible desire in that it would be cruel – he must grow. A part of me wants to preserve this Leo in aspic, and just have these days over and over again. So he can sing in his chains like the sea. But those chains arrive soon – some days no yoghurt will come.
Well, this must be my sweetest song so far.

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