My son, Charlie has just one more chromosome than I do, but it manages to slither from his body and wrap tightly around my little boy’s abilities. His gait is off-balance but determined. His speech is monosyllabic and includes “Mum.”
He fights the roadblocks daily. He flees brilliantly when it’s time for a diaper change.
He gets frustrated. Absolutely. When he has invented a sign for something important but Mum just doesn’t get it.
His frustration sometimes matches mine…and sometimes he is carefree with glee while my heart begins to break.
I want him to catch a break. I want us to get a break from how much harder Charlie has to work for what comes fluidly to his younger sister.
“Cut him a break, God,” I plead.
Then his bubbling laughter pulls me from my woe-is-us funk. If Charlie isn’t bothered by this moment, why am I?