The rain beats the roof announcing another wet day. What's new? I sit lotus in the big chair making my lists when my growing boy in soft plaid pajamas tiptoes out, eyes half-closed, and folds himself like an origami baby into my lap. How is it possible? Standing, I can rest my chin on his mop of curly brown hair. While I ponder the engineering marvel of the human body to fold, transformer-like, into the toddler he once was (a minute ago?!), he rests his soft cheek against mine, a gangly arm around my neck. This moment ("you're soaking in it!") is broken when he pulls back, gazing up at me with his huge brown eyes and croaks in his sleepy voice, "You smell like tuna."