We got a baby bird this past Saturday.
A tiny, tiny newborn love bird.
A baby that needs to be hand fed and looked after like a human baby.
We aren’t regular folks.
We can’t have regular pets.
That’s how we roll.
The kid has been asking for a bird for the past month. She floods my feed with bird videos,
pictures; her social posts are all bird related. Like all our lives, her autism gives way to
obsessions nonstop. This being her
latest. We had not originally wanted a
bird so delicate and tiny, but her face when she first set eyes on the bird,
let me know that this HAD to be done.
Our home has never been a “normal” home. Our pasts tarnished with spoiled moments; of “could
be” moments. These last few weeks have
been stressful for me as a parent. The uncertainty
of the future, the inability to provide help, the frustration of trying it all
and not have any results-stings.
We are close to taking the decision to have her head shaved
once again. The trichotillomania has
gotten worse and I try to remain numb but it is impossible. Her self esteem beginning
to falter and my heart breaking into tiny pieces, just when I think it's been broken enough.
So I caved in.
I caved in and we got a baby, bald bird.
Who looks like her.
She cradled it in her arms and talked to it with all the
tenderness in the world. I saw these two bald, tiny, vulnerable creatures
looking at each other with amazement and wonder and love.
All this love.
She loves. She loves Big. She deserves all the happiness in
the world. She deserves to feel valued
and beautiful and happy.
But sometimes even I can’t provide that.
And maybe this tiny little bird isn’t the solution to all
our problems. Maybe it won’t stop the
anxiety or depression or the hair pulling. But my options are running out and I don’t believe in a lot
of things, but I have to choose to believe in this; in this bonding of the
small and meek.
In the feathers that start to grow and the wings that will
eventually lead to flying. in the meek that shall inherit the earth.
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