Autism & Cuddles

I'm a shameless hugger.

No-one is safe.

In public, I practice an exercise where I mentally pin my arms to my sides and count to ten until the urge passes.  

Then I hug them anyway.

I've had to had a stern word with myself to refrain from hugging the postman or the bank clerk (mainly to avoid injury or incarceration).

Usually this works.

The thing is, I miss cuddles with my adult children.

Yeah, we hug, and chill together on the sofa etc. etc. But we don't do the big, full-on, soul-deep cuddles we did when they were little.  When puberty arrives, cuddles like that become a bit creepy and Game of Thrones-y.

Finian, however, doesn't waste any mental energy on social norms or raised eyebrows.

Finian folds that flying fuck into an origami humming bird and catapults it far, far away.

This is one of the sunny sides of autism.

On weekend mornings he waits for his dad to get out of our bed (Freud, eat your heart out), dives in, and cuddles up beside me from his head to his toes.  With a big old silly megawatt smile radiating from his lovely face.  The man just wants a goddamn cuddle and isn't shy about getting it.  There's a purity about his demand for love that is both vulnerable and courageous.  His autism bypasses all the conditioned bullshit that prevents most of us from experiencing this.

Things can be right in the world with love like this

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