Just like that, he starts hitting himself on the head.
I fly into emergency mode. He hasn’t had an episode in ages, but I should have known it was coming. Should have known itwas only a matter of time before all his stress about Brad bubbled up to the surface.
“Hey,” I whisper, gently grabbing hold of his hands to keep him from hurting himself. “Enough of that, okay? Breathe.”
He’s red-faced now, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why can’t I be normal, Mommy?”
Normal. I never use that word. Not to describe people—not to describe him. The things he is, the things he’s not. His therapistand his teachers were adamant that comparisons were going to be a problem growing up, and that it was important to foster alanguage that didn’t lean into that.
But I do remember who used it.
“Ther
