He is so very tiny, yet twice again himself in just a year. Fingers probe and curl just as before, but now with comprehension of the touch of skin that holds the voice inside. He need not kick the air in futile search, for he has found the earth to trust to take him onward and into the magical spaces of the others. And it is fun, because he will have them chasing after him with worry since he used to stay wherever placed before. And this: The way he moves his mouth can make them do the same in imitation. The food is strange and varied tasting though, and he is helpless in his ways to make them understand. While some is flung, and some spit out, more than he really wants gets in before the milk he knows and loves. He has learned to talk by reaching out his arm, and though it makes no sound, it seems to work. He will watch them even when they do not know it, because he is smarter than they think but keeps it to himself until he is sure, and then he will surprise them—he has learned it makes them glow when done that way.
He is one year old today.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology