Niagara Gazette —
When I slipped pajamas over his chubby legs, I realized how I treasured such a simple action. He’d overcome his sensory-overloaded-clothing-hatred. I inhaled his still-baby scent and relished the moment. With Zachary snuggled between us, we soon fell asleep.
At dawn, Zachary woke me playing with his trains — my body his track. It actually felt good. Until he reached my face. Train wheels are detrimental to eyes, so I gave up on sleeping. Zach pounced on Joe’s stomach, and woke him too. We were used to it. Zach never slept much. On a positive note, the sunrise was a sight to share. Then a toy train hit Joe in the back of the head.
“Do you still think our little guy is beautiful?” I asked through a fit of giggles.
Hope was our rope, and humor was the knot at the end of it. Still is.
We entered the Thomas the Tank amusement park, Zachary clutching our hands and lifting his feet to swing between us. Anyone looking at us would think we were a “normal” family. At that moment I felt that way. The other kids clamored around the costumed employees, but Zachary ignored them and bolted to a line of people — a long one, twisting like a snake, and making my stomach knot with trepidation. Zachary did not grasp the concept of waiting.
Thomas the Train arrived, steaming and in full-size glory. Zachary hopped on the balls of his feet, flapped his hands, and droned. Everything would be fine as long as we kept moving. We were almost to the steps of the engine. Three more passengers and we would be on. Perfect. An announcement blared over a loudspeaker.
“The train is full. Please wait patiently for the next round.”
I knelt in front of Zach. “The train will come back. Just like on the Thomas shows.”