I worry that that, with her, we overcompensate,
and I worry that we undercompensate;
scrutinizing her too closely,
or overlooking her too often.
I worry when she plays the role of mother,
and when she uses babytalk;
that she resents her brother for being different from her friends,
that she doesn’t understand that he is different;
that maybe she is also different from her friends,
and that maybe she is just the same.
(I worry that his challenges are genetic,
And I worry that I caused them...
That we will never know,
and that we might find out.)
I worry through the sad days,
but, sadder still,, I worry through the happy ones.
I worry about all this too much worry...