The Taste of You

I returned Humphrey to his mat on the floor and went to fix him another bottle. The bites had almost vanished, and he was getting stronger, making constant baby gurgling sounds, even crying. Twice I'd found him in his crib turned-over, and several times he'd pushed himself up on all fours and rocked, grinning at me like he'd really accomplished something.

And I, a moron just like the rest of them, applauded and scooped him up and kissed him and told him what an amazing little boy he was.

At first, I thought he was progressing rapidly, but no, kids his age had already rolled over, sat up, crawled across the room. I hadn't seen these things at first because by the time I retrieved Humphrey from Kevin and Lydia's bathmat, he was too ill and weak even to cry properly. Now, as he grew stronger, he seemed to be progressing through all the baby stages for a second time.

Now I was pouring formula into a bottle when I heard a happy vowel sound behind me.

I turned and there he was, a yard away from where I'd left him. He looked around the corner with an O for a smile, proud of finding me all on his own.

"Wow, look at you!" I said.

His grin got even bigger, and he was again the chubby little infant in the picture Lydia and Kevin had brought to the party. The little ghost of a person I'd found on their bathmat was gone.

He squealed like a little pig when I whisked him into the air.

"See," I said. "We're doing fine. Just wait until Will gets back from wherever he's run off to. He'll be impressed with our progress, won't he?"

Humphrey grinned, healthy and content.

It wouldn't be long now, and he would be ready for a new home.

I cuddled him close.