Looking at Me

He is just as strange as I am. We both know this but he will still pantomime that I am the weirder of the two. His long fingers swirl in the air and his eyes are even more expressive than when he used them as his only communication. His head sprouts a million follicles of new growth that makes his head suddenly shades of brunette. We resist touching his new hair. It makes him want to karate chop us into pieces. He is a miracle and we love him.

Today he shoves a Lego in my face. (This is after a long finger has randomly poked me on the tip of my nose followed by a giggle). "Hello Jenny," he says, dancing a minuscule yellow Lego piece three inches from my eyeballs. I cross them just to focus. "I am a Lego. I am neither upside down nor rightside up. I'm looking at you." He speaks for the Lego for about thirty seconds until his mom, laughing, puts a hand on his shoulder to reign him back into reality. Every object he and I play with either looks at me or sits on my shoulder. This is my favorite time of the day.