Ten o'clock and I am going to bed. Mr. Baby is coming over tomorrow morning before the rooster gets up. I am certain Mr. Baby will be bright-eyed. For awhile, at least, and then he'll settle back down for more sleep. I hope. He's fighting sleep these days with everything he has. He'll hit himself on the leg while I'm giving him his bottle to keep himself awake. Sometimes he even pinches himself. Too much to miss! That's his philosophy.
He's doing a new thing now, Owen is. He's got a new grin. It's a chin-tucking, full-on, full-face grin that says nothing more than, "I know how cute I am!"
Dang. He's right.
And every day he becomes more obsessed by the chickens. When he had to leave the other day he threw a major hissy fit because he wanted to hang out with Elvis some more. It was raining but neither the chickens nor Owen seemed to mind. He was hysterical with anger that he had been separated from his rooster! And Elvis seems to love Owen too. Or at least he seems to be fascinated by him. He walks right up to him and crows and Owen tucks his body into mine and shivers with delight and then imitates him.
Sometimes Elvis tries to get in the van with Owen when they're leaving. I swear. He does.
Some boys have dogs. Owen has a rooster.
Well. Time to go to bed. It's drizzling again. The dishes are washed, the coffee is set for five-thirty, Mr. Moon's lunch for tomorrow is ready in the refrigerator for him to take to work. His toe is just so much better. I am SO grateful. And Owen will be here before I know it.
Sleep tight, y'all. I mean it.