We stayed in LA for an extra week after being discharged. During that time, Leo went on lots of walks, had a follow-up appointment, ripped off the gauze around his head, fell on his head, ate mangoes, crawled all over the hotel room, and generally acted like a toddler. Easy breezy, this kid.

Maybe it's hope, or maybe it's true: Since the frontal lobectomy, he's trying to talk more. He's now saying "hi" and something that sounds like "rara" for "dada." He's imitating animal and letter sounds, too. (He's such a little mimic, doing the same hand motions as his sisters or narrowing his eyes when I do.)

Language resides in the left frontal lobe, which is what he had removed, yet for a kid his age, it's "redundant," as his neurosurgeon put it; that skill can transfer to the right side just fine. It's amazing to think that we've removed the main section of his brain with abnormal activity, and we're already seeing development.

We're hoping that development continues its upward trajectory once Leo starts "school" next month. It's a nearby day care where he'll be the oldest in his class, but just barely. The kids are all around his developmental level, so we're anticipating some "monkey see, monkey do."

Since we aren't needing to keep him sickness-free for surgery (though no parent wants a kid with sniffles), Leo's free to go anywhere. He's held (and thrown) bags of granola at the grocery store. He's stared down and played peekaboo with families in the therapy waiting room. He went to library storytime.

After storytime, a kid who'd been eyeing Leo's incision ran up to me. "Hey! Other mom! Is that a baby zombie, or ...?" I think his mom was mortified, but he was earnest and curious. I loved it.

"He just had a brain surgery," I said. "Thanks for asking!"