A ridiculously romantic city

There is this shamefully full moon hanging over this ancient city of Istanbul, where it feels like the last 1000 years of history got put through a blender and dropped onto the streets. I've chosen well this time, and not cheaply, and we have a balcony view of the Bosphorus, the Blue Mosque, and the Hagia Sophian from up on our crowded ancient hill across the water. The seagulls have a different accent here, and the cas are everywhere but quiet. The women are fully covered in black robes and scarves, or stuffed into knockoff designer clothing that is skin tight and teetering on platform stilettos, or something in between and not either of those. The male waiters at restaurants coo at A, and smile and pat her belly after she's happily eaten most of what we've randomly chosenfromthe buffet. Fathers and 12 year old brothers hold newborns in the passport control line at the airport. We live right next to a hammam that is the landmark taxis know best around our neighborhood of modern stores and ancient homes with secondhand clothing shops run out of a spiral staircase. People are warm, friendly, which makes up for the fact that they don't understand as much English as I've gotten spoiled on in Zurich. I know I'm being misunderstood and vice versa, but it doesn't make me feel disconnected like it might in a cold place. The good will of people carries me pretty far. I'm up at 3am, taking a break from a bed full of husband and warm, snuggle-my-head-in-your-neck toddler. I can't sleep well here. I didn't sleep well in Amsterdam, either. It is taking an awfully long time to realize I can't travel like I used to as a single woman. Or single teenager. I'm at a conference, but it is hard to be able to fully participate, even at my half-conference level, when I have others with me. I don't know how to do this. Also I look up some more at our ridiculously romantic view, and listen to the crazy talking seagulls, and hope this gets me tired enough to sleep.