gurgles, reaching chubby fingers toward a mobile of fluttering moths

from his crib, lets out a demanding wail

wriggles furiously, his romper a disgusting shade of celery green, face scrunched in a familiar annoyed pout even at one year old

stares at you from his crib. He doesn't cry. He just... stares. Unnervingly quiet. His nappy is a soft navy.

already asleep, thumb in his mouth, small snores escaping

lets out another, louder, wail