2am, I hear my name being called out. Am I dreaming? I am not dreaming. I carry myself down the hallway, my vaporous tissue paper-like self to his room. There he is, standing in his crib with his green blankie wadded up around his cheek and chin the way he always holds it. He is smiling and his voice is like mist.
"Mom," he asks me, "Where does Meryl Streep live?"
---long confused pause from me---
"Um, maybe California. Maybe New York City."
2am mama thought: Seriously?
He curls back up in his bed and closes his eyes. I float on.