Don’t ask me. Will looked perfectly normal through the view-finder. I had no reason to expect that, digitized, he would grow the four-year old body of a Mannerist Christ child. Where did those legs come from?

During the six hours that we spent at Will’s new house on Saturday afternoon, he slept for no more than thirty minutes. (There were passages of overtiredness, but for the most part he was bright and cheerful; amazingly, he forgave his nitwit grandfather for clamping him to a spitup-soaked shoulder.) As a result, his maternal grandparents spent all of the following day at home in bed, or near it. In a flush of optimism just after noon, I did get dressed, but as the hours ticked by I found myself incapable of anything but reading.

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
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