Kære Sofie,

04:41. Otto is fed, Vera is protesting the concept of night. So I write to you, because you are the only person awake enough to answer at a civilised hour later.

Here is the thing I keep turning over. The monitor the sundhedsplejerske lent us — it does not just watch breathing anymore. It has started distinguishing them. "Otto: settling." "Vera: pre-cry, 40 seconds." And it is right. It is embarrassingly right. Forty seconds later, opera.

So now I lie there wondering: does it know them, or does it only know the pattern of a baby, and my two happen to fit? I decided I do not want to know. I still get up before the count reaches zero. I want to be the one who is right about my own children, even if the ceiling beats me to it.

Outside the window the harbour bath is empty and grey and perfect. When they are bigger I will teach them to jump in badly, like we did.

Come visit. Bring the loud crisps. I miss decibels I chose myself.

E (begge sover, mirakel)

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