Curious Boy

The bold navy stripes on his pajamas looked more like sea waves when he crawled under and around the tables and chairs, blankets and sheets we’d assembled into a bedtime fort. He bumped and knocked over my Moira doll sitting perfectly in her high chair.
“Slow, please slow, brother.”
His loud grin told me exactly what he was thinking but I hoped for once he would speak. But he never spoke. My quiet, curious boy.