There is no sound that D won't dance to.

The clang of the garbage truck emptying rubbish bins into itself.
The rat-a-tat-tat-tat grind of the coffee machine.
Even the blare emanating from a car whose alarm system has gone bonkers.
And then there's Alexa who obeys every command of his (technically ours, even if only for the moment) and ensures the house reverberates with music almost every waking moment.

His favourite toys are the ones that play music. Lilting tunes that he asks me to sing along to.
When I say Do Re Mi, he gleefully presses the keys on the mini-synth.
I bought him a xylophone a couple of weeks ago. He 'practises' everyday.

Then something happened yesterday, and I couldn't let that memory slip by without recording it here first.

D loves to pick small rocks and pebbles from the garden and drop them on the drain. Yesterday he had a small stone in his hand. Instead of dropping it on the drain, he tapped it against the metal grills a few times and looked up at me and smiled. I said, "Looks like it is too big to go through." He tapped the stone on the grills again and got up and did his little jig, moving him bum up and down in the air. And then it struck me. He was relating it to music. To the act of striking wooden sticks on his xylophone. The metallic chime was identical!

I am glad he still loves me singing him to sleep.

And the other thing ...

When I say "Harry Potter", D points towards the box set of magic that lies atop my table. He knows this one set of things is not to be toppled over or thrown from the table to the ground below. He accords it the respect it is due. I read a page aloud to him every day. We started Chapter 2 of The Philosopher's Stone today. At this rate, by the time we are done with all seven books, I think he'd be ready to start reading the first one by himself. By the light of a torch under the bedsheets, to add to the magic.