Her mother and I stand in the kitchen and talk horror films, talk drinking, talk music, talk philosophy, and squeal over the little progresses her daughter makes. My little doppelganger understands, now, more words. Can count to eight. Talks more. Listens. It's amazing how far she's come in the two months I've known her, and this is the feeling I wish I could keep in a jar and give to other people. When they ask, "How do you do it?" or "Isn't it tough to teach toddlers with autism?" I would open my jar filled with their knowledge, their progress, their love, the hugs they give me, their little arms wrapped around my neck, and everyone would understand.
"I feel like the Grinch on Christmas," I said, beaming. She doesn't like being touched by people who aren't her mother, but she'll hug me. She lets me pick her up.
"My heart is three sizes too big."