*The admittedly overpriced plastic Pottery Barn moon is big and, well, it lights up so it’ll do, kid. Added bonus? The handcrafted antique tabletop lamp with little stars chiseled out to let light sprinkle through, paired with the ambient sounds of the ocean. Ahh, just like Maui.

No, but really, the lamp does have little star cutouts and lets light sprinkle through, so there is that. It was the last of its kind (or at least on the shelf) at our local shop, the Target. The sounds akin to Maui are courtesy of a simple white noise machine a close friend had sent from Connecticut a few weeks after she learned we were having Child. Husband finds it to be more reminiscent of a tsunami, but I like to believe it’s soothing. Besides, it all ties together and tells a story and, like, respect the dedication to detail.

This moon is large and made of a flimsy plastic, yet beautifully illuminates a soft, diffused light. It shines just enough for Child to see the characters in his stories come to life —the most ideal warmup for his imagination, a little stretch before a night’s sleep. It’s under this moon that he hops right onto his bed, like the little bunny that visited our yard daily in the weeks leading up to his birth. He eagerly looks up at me, to pick out which of his very select favorites to get into. Sometimes I skip the reading, snuggle myself close into him, and make up the story as I go. The one remaining constant in these impromptu screenplays is that it always stars our friend, Moon. Sometimes we call her Luna, other times we call him Chand; but mostly, we simply say, “Oh hi, Moon!” I tell him how we can talk with our androgynous friend and how lucky we are to have them show up for us every night. We’ll someday get to the tides and stars but, as of now, we’re enjoying our nights with Moon.

As Child’s breathing begins to simultaneously slow, yet amplify, I continue with my tales. I tell him of that late August night, when I asked Moon for him, as it was showing off, in full, against the navy blue sky. “It was glowing, just like an *opal!” My favorite part of this routine is when he replies, “Oooh-pul” as he points at Moon, under the assumption that it’s made of opal, his birthstone. I continue on and tell him how I summoned our favorite rock formation and stated, “Moon, I think I need Child (what I refer to my kid as on public forums) to come to me now. Scratch that, I don’t think it, I know it. I feel like it’s time.” Nineteen months later, as Daddy and I stood with our feet dipped in the ocean, under a full worm moon, we learned that you were on your way to me. Moon was a part of the moment with us. It’s a big deal around here.”

We shift our focus, for a bit, to the story laid in front of us. Sometimes we count down his farm animals until the very last one, confirming that his imagination is now ready for a full night’s rest and reset. Other times, we make our own plot and follow along the illustrations until I notice his eyelids begin to fall. The eyes are my favorite part of the process, those big, fat eyes. He nestles his tiny little chin right into my collarbone and glares at the pages of the book with wide, glossy eyes. As I read ahead and point at familiar things with my hand, my peripheral remains focused on those eyes. He follows each word and lights up to those he recognizes. His anticipation for what’s to come next is adorable, especially the way that he scans each page for our friend, Moon.

Once we finish our story, I close the book and carry it over to little cloud shelf on the wall so it can rest with its pals. As I make my way back, I switch off Moon’s light, but not without one final goodnight. We say a “thank you” for showing up for us again and a simple, “G’nite moon!”

Update: tonight we read about what cats dream about and, As I turned the cover to close the book, he softly whispered, “Goodnight!” and snuggled his little face close to mine. I am the luckiest woman alive.

**His favorite stone is currently opal. I’m pretty sure it’s because it’s easy to say (though his aym-a-tissst comes pretty close) and also because it’s shaped like an oval. Opal ≈ oval, ya know?