You dodge a head butt.
I’m getting better at this.
The thought is ripped from your skull along with a fistful of hair. The screams turn hoarse; it’ll end soon. You hold on and don’t let go, even as teeth sink into flesh.
Don’t let go.
People stare. Murmured judgments used to bother you. Now, you just want it to end.
Then, it does. Your tiny child goes limp with exhaustion, her hot tears cascading down your chest. Whispering a lullaby you head to the car.
You cry in the shower.
Do parents of normal children know how lucky they are?