I marvel at the hearts of my daughters. In a way, I feel they’ve given me more of a heart of my own.
This was a small but poignant moment that I was lucky to capture in sequence, something so natural, so pure.
And it’s something I feel I’m learning as an autistic adult!
I forget what kind of scolding Mo got to where she retreated pouting to a corner, but it involved probably roughhousing my youngest, Zo.
Not soon after Mo’s whimpers echo in our laundry corridor, on scoots Zo, as if to come ask Mo “what’s wrong?”
She’s a 9-month old baby, yet she’s already in possession of a beautiful trait:
She runs to comfort sorrow.
What a profound little thing.
And of course, Mo reciprocates in kind.
They such sweet little humans, my greatest co-creations.
And this — this is how I learn about having a heart, by watching my little ones who do.
The Life Autistic 