Yesterday, we went out for breakfast. Mooloolaba Surf Club – breakfast overlooking the water. All you can eat. And the food is always yummier if you’re the one not preparing it or washing up, don’t you find?
Miss7 decided to serve herself fruit salad. She ate some rockmelon, gushing, “This is my favourite fruit of all time! I love rockmelon just sooooooooo much!”
I looked at her. (We rarely have rockmelon in the house, because I’m the only one who eats it.) “Really?” I asked “Since when?”
She paused in her munching, and thought about it for a few moments. Then she turned to me, all seriousness, and said “Since I was six.”
It was hard to keep a straight face, but I managed. I think.
Mr6’s conversation, immediately after breakfast, left a different kind of feeling. He took my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, “Mummy?”
“Yes, my sweet?”
“I’m autistic.”
“Yes,” I said, my eyes tearing up. “Yes, my sweet. You are.”
It was a bittersweet meal.