Turtle

Hayden, almost two, of stubby legs in shorts, impossible curls and squinty-squishy grin, who knows two languages and perhaps more in his own bartered blend, who has yet to discern a difference between affectations and being, who stresses out "uh-oh" and "oh no" and "hmmm" like the cartoon characters he sees, who has no concept of 'later' in any of his languages, who flaps ecstatic to Feist and Flight of the Bumble Bee, who is Ready-Set-Go downstairs to hide, who upon asking has never pooped but ducks in corners suspiciously, whose first word was 'door' now longs to pass through every one he sees, to go more outside, more swimming, more park, more slide, but if denied can be distracted before tears, who garners compliments on flights for his behavior, whose endless curiosity keeps him calm, who flirts with girls any chance he gets, who sleeps in the big bed with shout-dreams of toys, flutters jazz hands in my ear, kicks out every part of me, wakes up fresh to the morning miraculous to be alive and bear witness to the sun, who has not yet discovered insects but of bigger creatures delights, the meows and woof woofs and birdies, and trains, how many pointed arms in the direction of whistles, at the thump thump thump as it crosses behind our house, how glorious the announcement of 'Train!' like it is a mythic creature newly revived, how incredible it must be to be nearly two, edging into summer, in a city of so many doors and parks and trains, and on stubby legs with hobbit feet barreling momentum to carry his body-trunk towards every new adventure.  And how much more incredible to be the parent whose finger is held tightly, pulled forward on such adventures.