We used to be a family that drove places. Out to the country to see the spotty cows, up the mountain just to look out over where we had come from. The kids would soak in the spectacle of our corner of creation as it slid past the windows. They would increase their sense of belonging in this world, peppering us with questions of why and how till they tired and drifted off to sleep. Then Glenn and I would talk again as dreamers imagining our path to the future. 
Now we drive TO places, we choose the shortest root. We try to get home before the sun sets because the dark scares you so. We sit someone on either side of you, holding your hand, stroking your hair. We always bring purple blankie so we can play endless games off peek a boo. We hope and pray that someday soon you won’t try and clamber back up Mummy’s neck as I click you into the car. I’m not writing this to make you feel bad bubby, we all are forever thankful that you are here. In fact the concern your brother and sisters show for your baby tears melts Mummy’s heart. I’m just recording time, noting memories, besides in the future you may have a baby that screams hysterically in the car and then I can say Ha Ha! I feel your pain.
Yikes! Poor baby and poor parents! Levi used to do that the minute night fell.