#caregiver

Standard stores aren't built for men like you anymore. We realized that this morning when you tried on your dress shirt for the upcoming event; the buttons were under so much pressure they practically looked like they were begging for mercy over your belly. Finding a replacement off the rack was impossible, everything that fit your waist was far too baggy everywhere else. You’re becoming a shape that the ordinary world just doesn't account for.

So, I took you to a tailor.

I sat in the armchair with a quiet smile, watching as the tailor moved around you with his measuring tape. I saw the look of slight surprise on his face as he realized just how much space you take up. Seeing you stand there, shirtless under the tape, forced to confront the reality of your new dimensions, was incredibly satisfying. Every inch he called out was a testament to our progress.

When we got back to the car, you looked at me, perhaps a bit overwhelmed by the numbers. I just reached over and let my hand rest on the heavy, solid mass of your belly.

Hey so I’m searching for a caregiver. I’m not entirely certain what that means. But I wish for someone to take care of me, to remind me to take care of myself and my mental health, for someone to guide me when I’m lost.

I think having a caregiver will help me. I also heard about age regression and I want to try it. I think it’ll help me with my trauma

They have the heated seat on in the back, with my blankie and special tiger friend buckled in and waiting for me.

Papa will start to worry if I take too long, and mama will shove his shoulder teasingly and tell him she knows nothing bads gonna happen to her tough cookie. But she'll still breathe a small sigh of relief when I step out.

And when I open the door to the car I just sorta feel that tension that's been growing all day drip off my shoulders and I'm finally safe and warm with mama and papa.

Maybe mama will turn around and offer me a snack, and papa doesn't say anything except "hi kiddo..." in a really soft tone, because he knows I'm too tired to talk.

And I imagine that we all live together, and when we pull into our apartment complex, mama carries my lunchbox for me and papa grabs my hand and pulls me along up the stairs.

They don't ask to watch a show or if I've eaten dinner, they just take me to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get my pjs on, and then next thing I know I'm snuggled under a toasty comforter with my tiger in my arms and there's fading whispers out the door of "Goodnight baby..." "Goodnight...."