Not Real People
Lydia attends physical therapy at the hospital every other week. Very often the therapist will give us handouts at the end to remind us of exercises we can try at home. Today, as the therapist was showing us the take-home handouts, she pointed out the picture of a baby demonstrating one of the exercises. She said, “Here you can see how a real baby would do it.” A real baby. Thanks. So as I am caring for a fictional child would you please check my blood sugar because I could swear there is an actual person in my arms. In fact, I believe there is a whole family at home so you might have to lock me up. My husband happens to have pneumonia right now and his lungs are not operating normally, does that mean he’s also not a real person? And Jack, sometimes he has a hard time putting his shoes on and he’s almost four already. He must be fake. A flawed replica of a real kid who should be able to easily put his own shoes on by now. Lydia does not do things like the baby in the picture. And I’m clearly insane. So that’s us, the family of not real people.