Year of Pleasures: Therapy Animal Collector Cards

Animal Therapy Cards

Atti had his hip surgery at Shriners Hospital here in Sacramento, and I thank my lucky stars every day we live so close to them. Shriners is the very best place to be for a kid like Atti, and they also do exceptional work for kids who have survived horrific burns, paying for many kids from developing nations to travel in and receive treatment.

Having a whole hospital geared to the needs of kids is such a tremendous gift for us. There’s a whole floor filled with toys and books and games, flooded with sunlight and pop music and art projects, each kid is greeted with a sack of presents, and my favorite, therapy animals make rounds.

This trip I learned that not only do therapy animals make rounds, but each therapy animal has a collectors card made up. So the kids can have a memento of the great visit they had.

In my utopian fantasies, teachers will be celebrities and instead of cards for professional athletes, kids will spend hours lovingly collecting and trading the cards of adorable service animals. That world would be so much happier.

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Tresa gets a trainer

Trainer

It’s been three solid years of torturing my body trying to have another kid. It’s been over eight years of hoping and trying and testing and measuring, but it’s been three years of hormones and needles and pills and surgeries and procedures and hospitals. It’s not quite over yet, we still have two frozen embryos we’ll be giving one last try before the end of the year, but that’s almost a formality at this point. We don’t expect a different result which means that I’m making peace with having only one child with needs that exempt him from the typical childhood experience. Not a single other part of my life has gone according to how the stories go, so parenting shouldn’t be much different.

I had my major surgery in December, and Atti had his in February. I was still in my recovery window when Atti became completely dependent and needed to be lifted – in a particular way that kept him immobile – several times a day. Which meant that I was carrying this 50 pound kid everywhere he needed to get without functioning ab muscles. It’s amazing my back held out for as long as it did.

But of course I got injured. Caregiver injuries are no joke and I can pretty much count on fighting back and muscle problems for the rest of my life. I have one friend who just had her spine fused because of damage done by improperly lifting her disabled daughter. But children are not free weights. There’s really no way to properly lift a free-spirited child. They work against your proper form.

I can’t blame it all on Atticus, though. My back was hurting me but what sent me into full spasm requiring muscle relaxers and my own immobility was my dumb butt trying to yoga my way out of the injury, but only yogaing my way into full blown seized up muscles. I suck at moderation.

Which makes my trainer even more perfect for me.

When I first started meeting him I was charmed by his hippie ways. He’s a little more open to the woo woo than I am, but I cannot argue with the results he gets. He does this thing called active meditation where he makes me work really hard and then stop and meditate and it works like magic to get me crying about pent up stuff every time. Unfortunately, since my surgery, I’ve been to bad off to use his full skills. Instead he comes over and does some energy work and some deep tissue massage. Somehow he still makes me cry just by pushing on the right spot. Last time he pushed on a spot in my abdomen and I let out a blue streak that would make a sailor who left the sea for the call of the open road and now worked as a longhaul trucker blush. I had to end the session by apologizing for my remarks about his mother.

Right now I can’t do much of anything. I walked a mile around the lake and it knocked me out for three days. I’ve had shin splints for weeks. My trainer has to keep begging me to listen to my body and stop pushing so hard, but I have no chill. I am regularly so bummed out about my current condition that I go right past where I know I should stop just because it’s so depressing that THAT is where I have to cry uncle.

I’m trying though. My trainer keeps promising me that a little bit is all it takes to make progress, so maybe by the time Atti is grown I’ll be fit.

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Please Don’t See Me Before You

You Before Me
Me Before You is opening next weekend, and I’m begging you to ignore it. It’s a real shame because the actors are lovely and I’m sure everyone behind the production is good people, but this movie is dangerous.

Spoilers ahoy:
The beautiful man is a successful dude with everything going for him and then gets hit by a car and is paralyzed. He believes there is nothing for him but death, so his family helps him to work towards physician assisted suicide. Meanwhile, his parents hire a beautiful Manic Pixie Dream Girl to teach him how to live. But! TWIST! Instead of Manic Pixieing her way into his edification, he Magical Burden’s his way into hers. He kills himself anyway after teaching her how to reach for her dreams.

I am actually highly in favor of physician assisted suicide. I live with both mental illness and chronic pain. I understand that there is some pain that is both unrecoverable and unlivable. My problem is not that a man wanted to kill himself. If this was a documentary or a biopic or a film based on a memoir I would bring more nuance to this. But it’s not. It’s a fictionalized love story that relies solely on tropes that are harmful to humans. It sends a message that not having motor skills is to render a person a burden not worthy of life.

The character in this movie would rather be dead than disabled. I posted a link to this essay on my facebook wall and someone came back with their own experiences of facing a similar tragedy and wanting to die so as not to be a burden on their loved ones. People really do feel this way. They are out there and those are their real feelings, but what put those feelings there?

Society. Media. Every message we ever get that says we are only worth anything if we are thin enough or pretty enough or white enough or rich enough. Because all of society makes it so. It is internalized ableism. There are black people who hate black people, women who hate women, gay people who hate gay people. This is what happens when you live in a bigoted world and you are from an oppressed group. You get the same messages as everyone else, and some people believe them. People who would rather be dead than disabled believe the lie that they are a burden not worthy of life. This is what oppression looks like.

So here I am, trying to raise this beautiful brilliant boy. This boy who most days doesn’t want to leave the house because people look at him funny. Who has been invited to two birthday parties in his whole eight year old life. Who is constantly being ignored and talked down to, spoken about as if he’s not in the room while adults guess at what his future will look like. “He’ll be lucky if anyone ever marries him.” they say. Or “You should be happy if he can ever learn to make change.” Who has a handful of people in his life he can count on to treat him like a human being. And THE ONLY TIME he ever sees anyone like him in his entertainment, is when they exist to make other people around them be better people, and then they die.

I’ve written and spoken about this phenomenon, calling it the Magical Burden. (Based on Spike Lee’s idea of the Magical Negro).

Whether it’s Cuba Gooding Junior in Radio teaching a football coach how to feel or Walt Jr. in Breaking Bad giving his father motivation to get money, you won’t see a disabled character actually having their own story, and they’re almost never played by a character with a disability (Breaking Bad did get that part right). They are played by actors chasing prestige and Oscars. These characters only exist to teach lessons and give people without disabilities some perspective. And that perspective is always “It could be worse! You could have a disability!” In the case of this movie, the perspective is “Better live life to the fullest! You could get hit by a bus tomorrow and be crippled forever which is a fate literally worse than death!”

What I need you all to understand is that that attitude hurts my son.

It actually compounds disability. I’m trying to teach Atti to have faith in himself, in the world, that it’s all worth the effort required for him to engage. I’m trying to coax him out of his shell and keep him motivated and every time he turns around all he hears is “Why try? It’s better to be dead than disabled.”

Please think about that. Think about what that would do to you. If every message you got was that it was preferable to be dead than to live the way you live. How could you find the motivation to keep going? As an eight year old child? As a parent, how would you feel if you knew your most important job was to keep your child from believing in the worthlessness the whole world tries to sell him?

This movie is not about a man who wants to die with dignity and control his fate. It’s about a man who believes it’s better to be dead than disabled and a family who agrees with him. It’s about the ugliness in our society that believes self-sufficiency and contributions to the economy are the highest virtues a person can attain. That belittles the soul and the heart and the humanity of people who function differently from the norm.

Please don’t see this movie. Watch Atti on my YouTube channel as he fights to be seen. Watch Zach Anner or Becoming Bulletproof or Josh Blue. Make a friend who uses a wheelchair or crutches. Fight to make sure that all your spaces are accessible. Invite a kid who moves differently to a birthday party.

There is something worse than being disabled. It’s believing that the whole world only sees you as a burden. Do something to prove that’s not true.

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The secret to quality healthcare

Tramadol

In December I had major abdominal surgery to treat my endometriosis. My stomach was expanded with air to a truly alarming size and then each of my internal organs was lasered clean. Including all whatever long feet of my intestines. You might imagine this kind of surgery would require a minute to rebound from, and you’d be right. Digesting is still a trick I haven’t remastered, and my abdominal muscles are shredded wheat.

And then just over a month later Atti had double hip reconstruction, rendering him completely immobile for 8 weeks. Getting him home was so horrible I was *thisclose* to laying down in the parking lot and waiting for a hospital van to run over me. Bathing, feeding, changing diapers, all had to be done without moving his hips. He was a 50 pound sack of potatoes that screamed when you carried him.

So with only shredded wheat abs to rely on, it was only a matter of time before I hurt my back. Luckily I managed to get through the worst of Atti’s recovery and now he’s back at school for most of the day, but for the past several weeks I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid anything heavier than my cats and trying not to scream every time I had to shift my weight.

I went to the doctor, bracing myself for another round of “Pat Tresa on the Head” as another invisible complaint rendered me unbelievable. But I had an entirely different experience. My doctor shot my back up with Lidocaine and then handed me a GIANT bottle of Tramadol since I refused her offer of Oxy.

All I have to do is mention that I’m taking care of a kid with cerebral palsy and the prescription pads come flying out. I have more drugs at my disposal than at any point in my entire career of sickness. There was one point when a gynecologist was prescribing me one pill at a time and insisted that he would not treat me until I went to a therapist. When I start giving my history to a GP, I can feel them pushing me off to the side the more I talk.

But now I know. All I have to do to get pain medication is not chalk it up to a lady disease.

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My Mother’s Day Gift

Mother's Day

Atti has gone back to school. Finally. He still has a whole lot of recovery ahead of him – he can’t scoot yet or sit up unassisted – but he’s back in his red wheelchair which is what we needed for him to be able to get back to his routine. Lucky for me, it was right in time for him to make me a Mother’s Day present.

It came home with him from school wrapped up with a card and a ribbon and I asked him if I could open it then or if I needed to wait. With a smirk he told me I had to wait until Mother’s Day morning, so we set it on top of the fireplace.

Atti’s been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. Being strapped to a pillow to keep his new hip joints in position and then put in a hospital bed too far off the ground for him to get down from even if he could move just proved to be too much anxiety for one boy to take, so he’s spent every night in between me and Bear, his giant leg wedge pushing us so far apart we high 5 to say goodnight. But on Mother’s Day morning I woke up to his arms around my neck and him kissing me awake, no matter how hard I tried to sleep in. He was more excited for this than Christmas.

We went out to the living room for some breakfast and he told me I could open my present. I unrolled a reusable grocery bag decorated with his little handprints in the shape of a sun, and a handpainted card that read, in his own wobbly handwriting, “To Mom: I love you. Love Atticus.”

This is what I looked like:

As I was weeping, Atti just looked at me with a sly little grin on his face. He was so proud of himself. Usually when he brings things home from school they don’t stick around long. I don’t bother saving the work of his teachers, who are usually the ones behind the art projects, but this one was different. From how he made me wait, to his little face when I opened it, to how he was so excited and proud of himself that he couldn’t stop jumping long enough for me to take this picture, it was clear he was behind every part of this. And he felt so good that he was able to give something instead of always being the one in need of giving.

This was the Mother’s Day that I had been dreaming about for years. Full of messy art projects and adorable expressions of love. This was the first year that Atti was really able to express himself. Unless you watch him closely and really take the time to understand his expressions, he seems disinterested in so much of what goes on. But really, it’s not disinterest. It’s counting on people to look past him and not wanting to put in the effort to change their assumptions. But I know how to speak Atticus, so he showed me. He held that damn pencil and he struggled over those letters. He planned a surprise for my special day. He reached way outside himself and he did it to express his love for me. It’s just too beautiful to bear.

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Year of Pleasures: Seeing Atti’s Future

At 8 years old, Atti is starting to cross over from the little kid phase to the big kid phase. And with that comes all the development that starts to freak parents out. All the development that will eventually wind up in independent adulthood, but right now is just kind of scary. And for a kid with significant motor disabilities, it’s even scarier. While many parents are worried about what dating might look like for their kids in a few years, parents of kids with disabilities worry if their kids will even have friendships, let alone dates. I worry that as his body continues to grow that I’ll be able to meet the demands of caretaking. I worry about his struggles in school and what that might mean for his future. If he’ll be able to live independently, be hired at a job, study at college. I know Atti is capable of everyone of those things, but I worry if the world will let him in to try.

Lately I’ve come across a couple of exceptional pieces of media that have rendered me crying in the fetal position, not out of fear, but out of gratitude I could barely contain.

I stumbled across the documentary Becoming Bulletproof while I was flipping through my cable channels and I watched the whole thing with Atticus, despite there being some frank sexuality talk that he might have been too young for. But then again, maybe not.

The documentary is a behind the scenes story of a group of actors making a movie. Only most of the actors have disabilities. You watch as the able bodied crew is constantly surprised at the abilities of the actors – making interesting choices, playing to their strengths, falling in love with someone else on set, having dreams for their futures. You see the intense emotional cost of having to live in a world that doesn’t see you as human. And how that emotional cost actually exacerbates the limitations of the disabilities these people have. You see disabled adults actually expressing adult emotions and experiences in a way that is NEVER done in media.

One of the actors is a man named AJ who has cerebral palsy and I kept stopping the movie to make sure Atti was paying attention to someone on the screen that was just like him. Someone just like him who always had this secret dream of being an actor, but knew he couldn’t make it happen on his own in his current circumstances. But at this camp, a camp for actors with disabilities to go to and make one movie a summer, he could. And you watch him overcome his physical limitations, overcome his hard won insecurities, and deliver a performance. You see how much it means to him to contribute, to have people depend on him, to live his dreams. And I sobbed and I sobbed and then I found him on twitter so I could fall at his feet in gratitude that I had this movie to use to mentor my son through his own limitations and insecurities.

I want every single person who loves Atticus to find this movie and watch it.

I’ve been a fan of Zach Anner’s since I saw him on Oprah Winfrey’s reality show where she was giving away an OWN television show. He was funny and charming and above the usual reality show squabbles because he was really trying to do something more than just be on a reality show. He has an awesome Youtube channel and has just published his first book If At Birth You Don’t Succeed.

Zach also has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair to get around, just like Atti, just like AJ. He is funny and winning and vulnerable and in both his Youtube videos and his book he discusses his disability with humor and charm. No self pity, but also no apologies. A lot of the book revolves around his romantic life which I found to be so wonderful. It was full of relatable humor – everyone knows what it’s like to be clueless and fumbling while longing for love – but also really examined the barriers the world puts up for anyone who doesn’t function in the one particular way that most often occurs. He jokes about all the times a curb keeps him from shopping, how his wheelchair breaking down causes no end of problems, how his eyes make reading and school challenging, and all the times he had to find a work around for those barriers or give up. And with his ingenuity and humor he found enough work arounds to accomplish more than most people.

Watch this movie. Read this book. Think what your life would be like if you had different barriers in your life, but the same brain in your head. How it feels to be denied opportunity. And then help me make the world bigger for Atticus.

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More in Viral Adventures

Skater Atti
So, in case you’re not following along on the FB page, Atti’s viral moment is only picking up steam. We’re now in the “local news picks it up” segment of the journey and heading straight for “national news begins to pay attention.” I’ve had to set all my other responsibilities aside as I became his accidental full time momager and suddenly developed a tiny shred of empathy towards Kris Jenner. Just a shred.

We’ve reached the point where I can’t keep track of all the views. So many outlets have shared it on their pages that I don’t know how to even find them all. At last count we had crossed the 20 million mark. Upworthy, Buzzfeed, Ask Men, LittleThings.com, a TV show called Right This Minute, the front page of reddit, trending worldwide on Facebook, and that’s when the local news came calling.

Atti and Dad
First there was the ABC affiliate. And then there was the Fox affiliate. Each news outlet did their own version and I think each story is worth watching because my child is so gorgeous and lovable, but your mileage may vary. Then USA Today picked up the ABC affiliate story and had it on their front page for a minute. AOL.com ran the story.

Atti on CBS
This is a still from my favorite news story so far. The local CBS reporter just got us and Atti put on a full scale charm offensive. He is turning into such a little ham. But mainly it showed me that all the viral notoriety is worth it for my baby to go on the news and tell the world how he loved my kisses. I will never be the same.

Then CBS.com – the national news – picked up the local affiliate story. So did FoxNews.com. And all week my phone has been ringing with other offers, more conversations, more attention. And Atti is just so happy that the whole world is seeing him as a cool kid and not an afterthought or a burden.

I know there are lots of new readers with all this attention, so let me give you the Clif’s Notes. Below is a playlist of all of Atti’s videos on my Youtube channel. And here is a collection of all my best Atti stories. He is not only a great kid, but the best person I know. I’m so proud that the world is getting to see what I’ve always known.

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Atti Goes Viral

Snuggly Atticus

The last couple of days have been wild, but I think that I should really just start accepting that as understood when I start writing my posts. I just don’t seem to run optimally unless I’m surrounded by chaos.

I took what was supposed to be a super quick road trip (bookmark that story for another day) and yadda yadda yadda didn’t get home until two days later then expected. Then my activism stuff kicked into high gear as my church issued a press release that was super super problematic around issues of abuse. Writing about that turned one eye of the internet towards me as I started getting hit with some ugliness that comes with attention.

But then. On the very same day I’m dealing with the underbelly of humanity by advocating around child abuse, Atti’s skate park video gets published on Upworthy and suddenly the other eye of the internet turns toward me. But this time with effusive love and support. This time I was hearing about how great we are and how amazing my little hero is and suddenly I feel like human beings are worth fighting for.

And then I started reading the comments to Atticus.

(I left out all the ones chastising us for not using a helmet because, Guess what folks? If your child can’t walk you don’t buy them a helmet. This was not a matter of being too lazy to put one on, this was a matter of not having reason to believe he would ever need one. We had no idea he would love this like he did. Plus he’s on five wheels, not two. He’s way more stable than a skateboard. He has a helmet now. Shush with your able bodied privilege.)

Atti is an EXTREMELY shy kid. Sometimes we’ve met people who know him from videos and he hides behind me or closes his eyes and covers his ears. But he is always wanting me to show him the videos I’ve made of him. There he can see himself as who he really is. And seeing how many people were watching that video? And cheering him on? Made such an amazing difference to him. He went to bed giggling. He was hugging and kissing me all night. I kept saying “Look at all these people who believe in you!” And as we put him to bed we went to read him stories, but last night? He read them to us. He gathered up his courage to try reading out loud. To risk sounding “funny” as he struggled to make the words with his mouth and to show us just what that sweet little brain could do. You all gave him faith in himself.

If you don’t have a disability, imagine the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. Maybe it was a sport and you had a coach who really pushed you to do your best. Maybe you struggled with math or reading. Maybe your parents really wanted to play an instrument and you hated every second of it. Imagine whatever that thing is. Remember how discouraged you got? Remember how bad you felt about yourself? Maybe you even said “I’m so stupid!” when you got a bad grade. And how all those bad feelings about yourself kept you from trying. Maybe you gave up on that instrument. Or quit that sport. Or are still telling yourself “I just can’t do math.”

Now imagine that all of those feelings you have, instead of being around math or sports or the piano, was about talking. Imagine it was about walking. Imagine that every single human encounter you had required you to do a complicated math problem. That’s the world my Atticus lives in.

My job as his mom is to protect that sweet brave spirit. To make sure that he never gets discouraged enough to give up. I need to be his coach and tell him that Rome wasn’t built in a day and that It’s better to have tried and failed than never tried and that Winners never quit and quitters never win. All day long I’m trying to make up for how hard the whole rest of the world is by telling him how much I believe in him.

I wish you all could have seen his face when I told him that a million other people believe in him too.

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Farmer Atticus

Tomato Picking

Since losing my little dreamhouse on Courage Street back in 2010, we’ve been renters. In the last five years we’ve lived in three houses that were pretty great, all things considered. And because we’ve had such good luck I haven’t been in a rush to re-enter the market. Plus, to be honest, I wasn’t ready to love again. I am such a home body – like, a literal agoraphobe – and a home is such an important symbol to me of the roots I long to put down and the safe place I long to create, that losing my first home of my own left a mark on me. (And of course there was the whole destroyed credit and no down payment thing that comes with having a foreclosure on your record. Curse you financial meltdown!!)

Our current house is just ridiculously gorgeous and great for us. We have amazing neighbors, Atti can use his wheelchair to get anywhere in the house, and this backyard. I mean. But it’s not ours. And I’m feeling those hunger pains again.

We went looking at a property last week and it was PERFECT. I can’t stop thinking about it. But they were asking A LOT because there were three houses on the parcel, and yet they were all trailers. To do what we’d want to do we’d have to tear everything down and build again, which would be great, except for the land being way too expensive for that to make any sense. But this land. I dream about it. Views of the mountains on one side, the valley on the other. Acres of rolling hills only ten minutes from Bear’s work. If only.

It might take us a whole other year to really get what we want because as God is my witness I’m never moving again. Bear keeps wanting to play conservative because he doesn’t want to be house poor again, I keep saying I don’t care if we’re house poor for a few years if it means that I never have to pack another box in my life. And I have my heart set on lots and lots of land. In part because I have big plans for a group home for gay kids who can work the farm to prepare for their future and save for college, but also just for Atticus. This kid is an outdoor kid.

When you spend your whole childhood in physical and occupational therapy, you get what they call “therapized.” He’s so used to being bossed around, picked up and lifted into position, told to do simple tasks that have no context, and eventually he’s gotten rebellious. At therapy he pretends he can’t stand or take steps, but at home, if there is a box of Cheerios on the counter out of his reach, he can suddenly master his body in ways I can hardly believe. It’s a constant battle to provide a reward or context that makes enough sense to him to keep doing the work it takes to move his body. And these days, it’s really hard to teach a kid to work.

But! If we had a farm! For a kid who loves playing outside so much every piece of clothing that goes on his lower body is ripped up from dragging against the concrete, whose back is as bronzed as the face of a cowboy but with a belly as pale as a lizard’s, who has callouses on his knees and his toes from the unique way he travels, on a farm, he would work.

Last night I told him that I would take him outside to pick tomatoes with me and we could send them to school for his teachers. He got so excited he jumped on my belly and giggled and refused to go to sleep. First thing this morning I got him dressed in his outside clothes as we sang about Little Atticus had a Farm and all the animals he would have and the tomatoes he would grow with a pick pick here and a pick pick there. We went to my little backyard patch and Atti – who you have to bribe to eat anything not carb based – ate every tomato that hit the bottom of the bowl. And then got entranced by “the little green ones” and picked tomatoes until he counted to 100.

He told me that the first animal he wants to get is a goat. And then a chicken so he can eat the eggs for breakfast. I want to get him a donkey he can ride around or pull him in a wagon. If we had a little donkey, he could take it hiking. Seeing how the world could open up for him in these old fashioned ways, I get teary eyed just thinking about it.

So for now we’ll have to make do with little tomatoes and wrangling cats. Because I am not settling for another house. When I move again, it will be for our Dreamfarm.

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Atti Update

Baclofen pump

Atti stayed home from school today. We’re all recovering from the flu, but that’s not really what did it. It was his screaming and tears when we tried to get him up and ready this morning. This is not the first time either. It only started a week and a half ago and he’s already begged and cried his way out of three days of school.

This actually doesn’t have anything to do with school. He loves riding the bus so much he cries when he gets home. He loves his teachers, he loves the routine, he loves learning, but ever since his surgery my anxious little guy has ramped up into a kid who never wants to leave the house.

We tempt him with movies or his favorite foods or trips to special places like the zoo. Bear even took him to a water park and he begged to go home after minutes. Even with a rash guard covering his belly.

When he’s at home he’s happy as can be. As I type he’s making up songs and playing with his Kindle at my feet. He needs a lot more assurance than pre-surgery, but since that basically just means more snuggles, I’m not mad at that. I just worry about my little guy and his relationship to the big wide world.

Shortly after I married Bear, I went through a period of agoraphobia. I would shake and cry at the thought of leaving the house. I failed my last semester of college, I lost a job, the thought of leaving that front door caused me physical pain. Now I know it’s all part of the OCD/anxiety broth my brain is stewing in, but the conditions I was living in – not having the tools to be open and vulnerable to my spouse without letting all the pain of the world overwhelm me – took my typical level of compulsion to a place that made sunshine seem dangerous.

I think that’s what’s going on with Atticus. He has had a major, major, change to his body. Imagine how self-conscious you feel when you’ve put on a little weight. Remember how it kept you from applying for a job, or reaching out to someone you wanted to know. Now compound that by medical necessity, disability, and the fact that there is a giant medical appliance jutting out from his tummy instead of just a little normal extra weight. This poor kid is already so different in so many ways, but he also knows how beautiful he is. This threatens that. This is another threat to his ability to fit in.

He will get used to it. It’s amazing what you can learn to accept. And we have all the right people involved. I’m just trying to be very carefully tuned in to him. Most days I would just tell him “Tough beans. You’re going to school.” But there are some days when that would make everything so much worse. Days like today when he just needs to feel safe and tackling the world comes after that. It would all be so much easier if he could speak fluently enough to go to therapy, or tell me how to help. But he doesn’t, so we’re both stumbling through trying to figure this all out together. All I know is that my first job is to make him know that he is loved. So back to the work of snuggling, and pushing, and eventually he’ll get through this.

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