"(F/n)."
"Mama."
"You're up past your bedtime."
"So are you."
Ukraine, your mother, laughed. "I don't have a bedtime anymore!"
"Then why do I have one?" you said, pouting adorably.
"Because you're too young. When you get older, you can stay up later."
"But-"
"If you go to bed now, I'll sing 'Котику Cіренький'1 for you."
You looked up sharply. That was your favorite lullaby from your childhood. You wanted to stay up late, but you wanted your mother to sing to you, too. You could only have one…
You looked at your mother and held up your arms, silently asking her to pick you up. Ukraine smiled and lifted you, carrying you to your room. She tucked you in and turned off the bedroom light from the switch next to the door.
Ukraine perched herself on the edge of your bed, near the bottom. She looked at you to see if she could start to sing. You nodded.
"Котику сіренький
Котику біленький
Котику волохатий
Не ходи по хаті
Не ходи по хаті
Не буди дитяти
Дитя буде спати
Котик воркотати
Ой на кота воркота
Ha дитину дрімота
A a a a !
A a a a !" 2
Your mother had a magical voice when she sang. She could somehow put so much emotion into the notes she sang. Sometimes, it seemed as if multiple voices were joining hers in a beautiful chorus. It remained something that you would look forward to.
You grinned tiredly. "Дякую мамі. На добраніч."3
She smiled softly. "Будь ласка. На добраніч. Я люблю тебе."4
"Я теж тебе люблю."5