My heart jittered in my tense chest, arms barely able to move as I pretended to be engrossed in the mail, while waiting for my son to take his first bite of fava-bean flour gingerbread cookie.
As just about any mom with an ASD child knows, their heightened senses include taste, being able to pick out the tiniest of changes in any concoction. I was bracing myself for what I was sure would be a shrill, “Mom, this doesn’t taste right.” Followed by the realization that I now had three dozen GF/CF star-shaped cookies that I would now have to add to the chocolate muffins I was already required to eat, single-handedly.
As a teenager, or even early twenty-something, that would have been no big deal at all. But as a solid middle-ager (unless I plan to live to 120 or something), my body can no longer handle that many calories on a regular basis. These treats were going to last forever!
One bite, then another. No, hesitation in between. No stopping to study the half-eaten star. I sense hope rising, as my breathing eases. Still not time to celebrate, but, wait!
“Mom, can I have another cookie?”
“Yes, have as many as you would like!”