His eyelashes grew in. His ears uncrinkled. His legs are slowly straightening out, but he’s got a very long body and he likes to keep his legs folded up. His torso doesn’t fit on my forearm, that’s how long he is: as long as my six-foot-seven brother was as a baby. At first Everett spent a lot of time waving his arms and grunting like a dinosaur, and then the next day he resembled Winston Churchill, and today he has evolved to almost a frog, or maybe a Buddha. He prefers to burp himself by waving his arms haphazardly, rather than being burped in any traditional way.
When he sees me, he licks his lips: that’s his baby-sign-language for, “Oh, I know you. You’re Food-Source.”
When he sees Sophie, his eyes follow her relentlessly. He thinks she is more fascinating than anything else he could possibly watch.
When he sees Ben, he relaxes sweetly.
We all just keep watching this fire.