***[in little singsong voice] "He is sleeping on a chair. Kitty. Kitty is sleeping. Is sleeping.... I am tickling him, tickling 'im. Kitty. Kitty. I am going to sleep with you [Wren climbs on kitty who jumps down and stalks off.] Oh, I make 'im wake up. I letting kitty to go night-night in there [gesturing to garden]"
"Is Wren going to die this?" Wren asks, while I am brushing his teeth? He looks mischievous but I am alarmed. I don't like any jokes about dying. "Why do you think you are going to die?" I ask. "That is silly questions" laughs Wren. "No," I say "its not a really silly question." I am not sure where to go with this but I feel guilty for worrying - as if my anxiety may infect Wren with a mortal dread. This is not the case right now as he battles with a puzzle and dreads only "why this not going on MOOMMMMMMMYYY!!!"