“I’m the human that was boooooorn…” he says, spinning around, looking up towards the ceiling with his hand dangling over his face.
“I’m the human that was boooooorn…” he trips and falls, face-first into the carpet, then pulls himself up, sobbing.
I use mommy snuggles and kisses to coax him back into a happy state.
“Are you the human that was born?” I ask him.
“I’m the human that was born in the puzzle,” he says.
“What did you say?”
“I’m the human that was born in the puzzle.”
He smiles at me and nods, as though he’s certain I will understand exactly what that means.
Update 9/11/07: Last night he added one more (surprising) detail to this mantra: “I am the human that was born in the puzzle of modern physics.” No joke.