Ten fingers, ten toes

Ten fingers, ten toes You have ten fingers and ten toes, head soft like tissue paper, a hairless baby bunny, too tiny to fit in my five year old hands. You were supposed to be my late April birthday present but instead a ten day early Valentines Day gift. 28 weeks early. Skin light brown just like mine, eyes dark brown, a mirror image, but far from the poster child for Gerber. Complications, doctors said. But what is really normal? Typical? You don’t act like me, or think the same as me, but you are part of me. Normal. Ten fingers, ten toes, and you are perfect. Normal. Developmentally stuck, like the five year old I once was. Developmentally younger, a child going through puberty. A child experiencing teenage angst, and the struggle of concentrating on homework assignments. As pencils splinter, and counting lines sprawl across your math notebook pages like black fences, we will patiently help you. When flashbacks of yellow sponges in square pants occur, I will smile with mom and dad and laugh with your memories until we steer you back. A never-ending bicycle training. I’m your helmet and they your pads, keeping you safe. I’m the big sister to your tiny body, but I’ll never leave your side. I don’t see you as being different, or being unusual, I see you as my brother. I won’t let the others tease you. I’ll always be there, telling them to leave you alone. Leave us alone. To teach you how to focus, and learn, so maybe one day you can finish your homework on your own. Unlikely. But I count ten fingers, ten toes.