Today is Antonio's Birthday

After cleaning off her plate, Abuela laid her silverware on her plate. The rest of the families stopped their own eating, Camillo's mouth half-stuffed with arepas, to attention.

"Mi familia, today is a very special day. Today, Antonio becomes five years of age."

Pepa kissed her youngest on the son in that way that moms did when they were excited, and everyone else at the table congradulated him in some manner.

"But we also know that that means," said Alma with a serious look on her face. "Today will mean a new ceremony. A new gift given to us by our miracle to serve our home."

Mirabel, the only Madrigal who didn't stop with her meal, heard this and scowled as best she could against her mommy's breast.

She knew at that very moment that if her baby side wasn't so preoccupied with mommy's milk, she would burst out crying the moment her abuela even mentioned Antonio's gift ceremony. After her own ceremony, she had so many conflicting emotions, none of them good, that just thinking about it could cause her to have a meltdown.

Mirabel had a lot of hangups about her "gift", but the worst part, in her opinion, was the psychological effects. It took a lot from her -- her ability to walk, to be understood by others, her ability to go to the potty -- so all she really had left was her mind. She knew she was old enough to where she should be able to do all of those things, and that she knew what the grown-ups were saying and could make decisions and nuanced opinions based on the things she learned.

In spite of all that, certain intrusive thoughts and habits reminded her time and time again that, at the end of the day, her free will was at the mercy of the miracle. One of her cousins would give her her rattle and realize that an hour had passed, Mirabel having been hypnotized into a catatonic state by the noise the whole time. She would be totally normal, only to suddenly start crying without understanding why, only for someone to feed her or change her or burp her, as though a switch had been flipped.

It was as though there were two, independent sides to Mirabel's personality -- the grown-up side and the baby side. Even worse, she didn't know if this was a side-effect of her "gift", like Camillo's increased metabolism or Dolores when she felt overstimulated, or if being treated like a baby for so long had caused her to crack.

One of her greatest fears will be that one day, she'll wake up from her nap, and she'll lose all memory of who she was. Her voice, her dreams, her ability to read or count. She'll just be a bouncing, babbling baby until she dies. Or until the miracle grows bored with her suffering and frees her. Whichever comes first.

Mirabel liked Antonio. Back when Antonio was just a baby himself, their mommies would leave them together for playdates. Normally, Mirabel was the "good listener", but having an actual baby in the room made her feel grown-up. She would talk to him about whatever, stack blocks together, and she even taught him how to play pattycake. But while Mirabel continued to crawl on all fours and still needed the changing table, Antonio learned to walk and talk and use the potty. The traitor.

Speaking of, Mirabel felt an uncomfortable pressure in her tummy and pushed. She had learned that trying to hold it in had been fruitless. Being a baby made her an expert multitasker, continuing to nurse, even as she felt the milk run dry, as she pooped herself. While only babies could poop their pants so casually, the grown-up part of Mirabel thought of it as a statement.

As far as she was concerned, the Miracle was a big stinky poopie.