The Two-Headed Monster

Ever since L was 6 weeks old, there's been a two-headed monster in his room at night.
It followed him when we moved houses and cities. It finds him in hospitals and other temporary homes.

He noticed it long before I did. All I noticed were his eyes fixating, then fascinating, then smiling.
Last year, on a motel wall, I saw it. It's always been there behind me, in front of L, finally captured by me thanks to a well-placed mirror. Now I look for it every night, or I look for L watching it. I watch for his relationship changing with it.

I never see fear in L's eyes, even though the appearance of it could be deemed "scary". Its body is blob-like. One head is bigger than the other and most nights, they are so close together that the two heads could be mistaken for one monstrous, malformed melon. It has no discernible arms, although, some nights I have seen what could be small fingers protruding like a swallowed child escaping.

On other nights, you can make out legs. If I dress formally, in a skirt say, it'll only show me two, but on casual pants nights, we both get to see all four; two long, framing a frighteningly skinny pair.  L loves pants nights because, if the light is just right, he can see the monster wiggling its toes.

I've noticed it mimics our movement; swaying along to the song I sing:
"See the pyramids along the Nile.
Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle.
Just remember darling all the while...
You belong to me."

I've grown to love this monster as L has grown nonchalant. He's 6 now, at school all day and far too busy for monster-watching at night when his sleep is so crucial. Very soon, there will come a night when he'll finally be too tall and too heavy to see the monster at all and then it'll be gone forever. I will see it replaced by other monsters with different heads and mechanical arms, but I won't even bother mentioning them to L. I know I will be too heart-broken.