J is supposed to be sleeping. He should be sleeping. He is in his jammies, has been changed and fed, and lies peacefully and contentedly in his crib. All is still. All is calm. J should be sleeping.
But is J sleeping?
J lays in his crib. Wide awake. Blowing raspberries. Loudly. Repeatedly. Rhythmically.
I wish I had a tape recorder!
Update: September 18, 2005 @ 9:25 a.m.
H singing to J (Part 3)
To "Raspberry Beret" by Prince
"'Cause you're a raspberry baby
The kind you find in the grocery store.
You are a raspberry baby
You go 'thbbbpt thbbbpt' but you can't say much more."
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