Dance with Me

Sometimes when I’m out and about in public, I’m managing so well that strangers regularly ask if I’m training him. At times, it’s easier to smile and nod and walk on (as I secretly apologize to Megan. the trainer, for taking the credit). Other times I say, “No, he’s training me.”

Both seem to be true, especially as we figure out new situations together. Like the other day: I’d just finished teaching a class (Tommy’s favorite nap time). Everyone had left and I’d forgotten to take my meds. I literally became frozen in place. This has happened at home in the past and he’s right there to help me from room to room. This was a first, though: Between us and home was an expanse of way more than a room or two. He and I and my three bags of teaching stuff were the only ones in the building, after which we’d need to navigate the back stair case and two blocks to where my car was parked. Without Tommy, at best, I’d have had to sit for 45 minutes or so until the meds kicked in. With him, I talked and he walked…the entire way, me talking, Tommy walking. It’s as though we’ve taught each other a kind of slow-motion dance.

So proud of him.