So last night, Rob is putting both boys to bed. They are currently sharing a room since I've turned the nursery into my "pretty pink room," as Marty calls it, or the yarn room, as I call it. Really, it's a pretty pink yarn room. If I'm not going to have a girl baby, I'm still going to have a pink room in this testosterone-riddled house. So Jack is in his toddler bed, the red fire engine bed with high sides so he doesn't fall off. And Rob is playing a Bradford Marsalis CD that Marty has been listening to since he was born, although we haven't played it for him for awhile.
Rob asks Marty if he remembers the music. "Yeah, Dad," he replies. "The next song is the butterfly song."
Rob remembers that Marty called it the butterfly song when he was little(r) because Rob would wave his fingers to the music. So he asks Jackson if he likes the music. He can only hear the pacifier sucking as a response. He asks again. More sucking. He asks again, and again sucking is the only response. He must be asleep, I think, as Rob is relaying this story to me. Jeez, don't wake the kid up! So Rob leans up over the wall of the fire engine bed, and asks him again, "Jack, do you like the music?" Jack nods his head vigorously. Rob says, "Oh, I couldn't see your head nodding." Jack removes his paci and says, "Yeah Dad, you can't hear my head." The kid's 2 1/2 years old!
