If motherhood had a soundtrack, mine would feature the persistent mental chant of lake-lake-lake on an endless loop, punctuated by occasional telepathic tantrums when said lake remained stubbornly out of reach. It was 5:43 AM, and Leo and Oscar had been broadcasting their watery obsession directly into my brain since approximately 4:17.
"Make it stop," Kieran groaned into his pillow, arm flung dramatically across his face. "How are they this fixated on a body of water? It's not like it's made of bacon."
LAAAAKE! Oscar's mental voice ricocheted through our consciousness with the subtlety of a bulldozer. In the nursery down the hall, I could feel him bouncing in wolf form, tiny paws drumming against the floor in furious anticipation.
See fishies, Leo added, his mental voice slightly less
