Sofie,

04:40. Vigga on the left, Storm asleep with one arm straight up like he's hailing a taxi. Fog on the harbour so thick the quiet-hour strip along the promenade is just a smear of blue.

Here's the thing I can't stop turning over. Vigga has started saying "mmn-hah" at the kitchen panel. Not to me. To it. And the panel — which is supposed to ignore anything under three words — answers her. Lowers the light. Every time.

So I tested it. Said mmn-hah myself in her exact intonation. Nothing. It doesn't know the word. It knows her.

Which means somewhere in the last eleven months my daughter and a wall have negotiated a private language and neither of them filed paperwork.

I'm not scared of it. I keep expecting to be scared of it and instead I'm just... interested. Is that the sleep deprivation? Ask me in a year.

Things I have learned this week: 1. Babies invent things. 2. Machines let them. 3. Nobody warns you that this is the charming part.

Come visit. Bring bread. Bring opinions.

E (begge sover, mirakel)

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