Most Interesting Person in the World

The title above refers to someone of paramount intelligence, infinite beauty, and biting wit. This person bakes, leaps tall buildings in a single bound, speaks Esperanto and deciphers hieroglyphics. This person has invented the penny, hunted wild boar, and saved entire countries from deforestation in only 27 short years of life. This person, of course, is ME. Or, at least this is the me my one-year-old son believes I am.

If company comes round looking for Evan, they should know he isn't hiding in the curtains or emptying cupboards in the bathroom. Look for him stuck to the hem of my skirt. It isn't that I drag him where ever I go, more that he attracts himself to me as a magnet does its opposite side. It's gotten so that I will stand him at one end of the room--in front of the window, then I'll build an obstacle course of blocks, trucks, and books between us just so I can get to the kitchen area to wash the dishes without a little person digging his nails into the backs of my knees. He can navigate through the pile of rubble in seconds, and then I'm at it again-- soapy hands trying to pry him off of me so I can finish whatever "important" task I'm set to.

I'm not a Mean Mom. I don't always shoo him away. I usually pick him up so he can see what I'm doing. This is becoming more of a problem lately: if I'm washing dishes, he wants to plunge his hands into the greasy water; if I'm brushing my teeth, he wants a taste of the brush; if I'm putting on a pair of tights, he has to touch and stretch them. Being a one-year-old is all about discovery, and I know this-- but the other day, as I was playing with Evan on the floor, he slapped me on the thigh, and when it jiggled, he laughed. I was slightly offended. Can you blame me?

However, no one else in the world thinks I'm so great. No one else would be amused by the noise flabby jiggle makes when it's smacked. No one else would be absolutely desperate to watch my every move. Living with Evan is like living with a really cute and very effective stalker.

My sister Angela suggested that I make a belt with an Evan-sized basket attached to it. This way, he could just crawl in and ride around in it all day long. I'm sure he'd be very pleased with this-- in a way, I would be, too. Someday he'll turn 13 and won't want to hug me or talk to me. And I prefer the current situation to that!