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When TJ woke up this morning, he wasn’t at all his usual chipper self. He begged Tom to “stay home from woo-rk.” Then he argued with me about staying upstairs so I could get dressed. He went to hide in my closet.
That’s when he started crying.
I caught the words “big poopers” come out of his mouth as he wrapped some of my longer dresses around him in the closet to hide. I asked him to come over to me so he could hold onto me while he tried to go.
He did. I could feel it coming out in his diaper. Poor guy. “Hurts me,” he said.
He didn’t want to stay holding me, so he just stood stock straight on the bed, looking into my big dressertop mirror.
“Don’t cry,” he said, with the tears flowing down his face. “Don’t want to cry.”
I told him it was okay to cry if it was hurting him, but he just kept telling me he didn’t want to cry. Then he decided that he would feel better with a clean diaper. But he didn’t stop crying, so I knew he hadn’t finished going yet.
I figured I’d start changing him anyways. He requested corn starch to make his butt feel better, so I had it close at hand.
And then I saw why he was in so much pain. It was hard, and it was stuck. He screamed, but I helped pull it out the rest of the way. (With a wipe in my hand.) Disgusting, but I couldn’t let him suffer any longer!
He felt much better when I put the corn starch on and secured his clean diaper. He was much happier again. Phew.
It was so heartbreaking to hear him say he didn’t want to cry.
That’s me: Christina Gleason. I’m a writer, editor, and disability advocate. I'm a multiply disabled autistic lady doing my best in this world built for abled people. I’m a geek for grammar, fantasy, and casual gaming. I hate vegetables. I cannot reliably speak, so I’ll happily conduct business over email or messaging instead.
