Life with autism is hard sometimes.
Like when you’ve had a couple of bloody noses, and so every time it starts to drip after that you think it’s going to be bloody. Then you yell to your mom, “It’s a red nose!”
And she says back, “No, it isn’t. It’s a white nose.”
“It’s a red nose! I need a wiper!”
So your mom hands you a tissue and you dab your nose and sigh in relief when it comes away not-red. And you walk around for the next several hours with a Kleenex held up to your face, occasionally changing it (and not always remembering to put the used “wiper” in the garbage can).
Other times, someone takes a bath, and for some reason you get extremely agitated by the sound of the running bathwater. Your mom can’t figure out why it’s making you so crazy, and all you want her to do is stop holding you so tightly so you can run into the bathroom and turn it off. So you scream and yell and and try to squirm out of her arms but she won’t let you. She tries to talk calmly but she just doesn’t understand the urgency of turning that water off. You don’t know why–yelling, “Turn it off! No more water! Mom walk!” seem self-explanatory enough.
And when the water stops, you give a shuddering sigh and let your mom wipe off your cheeks because it seems to make her feel better. Then you tuck your head under her chin and ask her, for the first time, to read you a book.
Her heart melts a little bit.
You snuggle in against her and she sighs, just as tired as you are from the recent wrestling match. Then she picks up the book and leans back into the pillows.
They’re soft, and you relax into them together.