On a Zoom call with my wife and the kid's psychologists. Wife is in a conference room at work. We are reviewing a 20+ page report of kid's observed behavior. Dead boring and anxiety provoking in equal measure. About thirty minutes into the meeting, I notice my image in the corner fidgeting and wonder how long I've been doing so. Worse, my chair creaks loudly, and it seems any burst of sound brings the image of the noisemaker to the fore. I'm wondering how often I popped up on the other participants' screens, just rocking or fixing my glasses or fussing with my collar. To them I probably look like I'm doing Chair Yoga*.
One of the shrinks describes an ADHD symptom the kid exhibits, and I startle when she asks me why I laughed. I didn't know I'd laughed. I say that's what I was like when I was fourteen and I've been diagnosed with ADHD too. Both shrinks widen their eyes and give their version of the Home Alone face, like "NO! say it ain't so," and it's probably because they're used to dealing with children that they make such a show of it, the pretend shock and disbelief, but I feel attacked anyway.
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