Tracing Time on My Child’s Tummy
announcements
The Power of Play: How Occupational Therapy Supports Kids On The Spectrum
Thursday, February 19, 2026 | 12:00 PM to 12:45 PM
Free | Everyone
Is your child or student on the autism spectrum? Discover how Occupational Therapy (OT) can help them master essential life skills in an environment they’ll actually love!
Join us for a special workshop featuring expert Occupational Therapists Sena and Sahana, owners of Development is Child’s Play. They specialize in a play-based approach that allows kids to interact on their own terms using fun tools and structures.
In this session, we’ll cover:
OT Basics: What it is and why it’s a “game-changer” for kids on the spectrum.
The Power of Play: How specialized play structures help develop vital skills.
Funding Your Support: Navigating the financial resources available for OT services.
Whether you are a parent or an educator, come learn how this supportive resource can make a daily difference.
the heart of the matter
I put my 8-year-old to bed at night. Sometimes I read to him, but increasingly we slip under the covers and read side-by-side. At lights out, we go through a ritual of protesting and insisting, both of us playing our roles in the evening theater. Then we make the theater almost literal.
We review our ten types of snuggling, introducing each one in turn to an imaginary audience at the foot of the bed. In Soft, we lie side by side with my hand on his leg or stomach. This is followed by Half, in a spooning position, my hand resting on his side. We make our way through the others; Full, Crush, Steamroller, Fart Under the Covers, and Triple Dipple, which involves a cat as our third, squirming snuggle participant.
When we finish the review, I ask him which snuggle he’d like tonight. It’s always Full: him in little spoon, pressed close against me, my arm draped over him, my hand resting on his tummy. This is my favorite position, too. My hand measures the slowing pace of his breath. Before long, his breathing is deep and even, and I know I’ve completed my job creating a cocoon of care that marks the end of his day.
My hand also marks his growth and the phase of our lives. With my fingers spread, I can cover the expanse of his belly. He’s still small, still innocent-ish, still mine. The length of his body seems to grow every day; his head now lies parallel to mine, his feet stretching down to my shins. He’s becoming more independent. He reads his own books. He dresses himself. He does homework without assistance (though not without nagging). He wants to walk to his friend’s house by himself (in the middle of San Francisco? Hard no, kiddo).
But his tummy is still small and soft. He still wants me to scrub him in the bathtub. He has a mild fear of the dark and a deep desire to fall asleep with his dad curled around him.
This sweet, smooth, tummy bears one significant scar along its lower right edge. I run a finger over it, remembering the surgery on his hip a year and a half ago. We discovered he had a rare, poorly understood disease that causes the femur to decay. Surgery helped correct it, but it also forced a temporary disability that left him in a back brace and a wheelchair for three months.
He was miserable. My kid, who thrives on movement and big play, was limited to being carried from one chair to another. In retrospect, his recovery was quick. At the time, it felt like ages of sponge baths, physical therapy appointments, and Disney movie repeats. We performed unwavering parental positivity that barely concealed the worry hanging over us. My baby was grumpy and frustrated, and also resilient and brave.
In September, he played his first soccer game in over a year. Before the opening whistle, I gave him a high five and retreated to the safety of a shade tree, where I bawled and shuddered through a full-body cry for five minutes.
Someday, will my baby have children of his own? What story will he tell them about his scar as he puts them to bed at night?
My dad continued to read to me at bedtime long after I was devouring books on my own. I remember my amusement when he nodded off mid-chapter. I recall a few of the books he read; The Maggie B, The Quangle Wangle’s Hat, which he read both forward and backward to my delight. Mostly, though, I remember the sense of security that spread through me like sun rays when I snuggled next to him. He closed each day by helping me feel safe, loved, and at peace.
When was the last time my dad lay next to me? Did he sense the inexorably ticking clock? Did he know we would soon leave those rituals behind, like my picture books, gone but treasured? Did he place his hand on my tummy and feel the passage of time as I slipped into slumber?
This past Christmas, my dad’s frailty told its own story through shuffling steps, deep fatigue, and the repetition of familiar questions that signaled his progressing dementia. Between his slipping mind and near deafness, thoughtful conversation is no longer possible. Even the simplest transactions—I’m going to the market, do you need anything?—require patience, persistence, and a whiteboard.
Together, we are living a story that has been written countless times before. My father gave me safety and strength and now moves through the world unsure and fragile. I hold my son tightly, knowing this phase won’t last much longer. Someday, God willing, I will be frail and in need of care again.
When he is a man, my child may have a child. Tender evening rituals will come to him like inherited wisdom. He will read. He will think. He will doubt. He will savor. His hand will trace the outlines of stories on his child’s tummy—stories grounded in love and care. Stories more sacred and enduring than my words can ever fully capture.
Be Well!
Ed
we’re obsessed with
The Boyfriend Season 2 on Netflix. While the rest of the country is losing it’s damn mind over Heated Rivalry, I’m hanging out in a calmer corner of man love. The Boyfriend is a gay dating reality show featuring Japanese men in Hokkaido. 10 young men live in a house together for two months, and figure out if they can find love with one of their housemates. Unlike the American reality screamosphere, there is no yelling, arguing, or huge drama. There IS a lot of romantic and sexual tension, and I need a new word to describe the pleasurable discomfort I feel witnessing someone else’s long, awkward, silence. Of course it’s my lot to crush on and root for the one guy who seems so sincere and so unlucky in love.
a story of hope
I follow Yewande Komolafe on NY Times Cooking. I have little familiarity with African cooking outside of my neighborhood Ethiopian restaurant. So when I cook a Komolafe recipe, I’m opening up new worlds of spices and flavor combinations. She fuses her Nigerian techniques into even simple American classics. I had no idea that she had endured the loss of her legs and fingers a few years ago. This story is about her journey back to the kitchen. It’s beautiful, courageous, and inspiring. How Losing My Limbs Turned Me Into A Different Kind of Cook.
my regular rant against screen time
From The Guardian, How Screen Time affects Toddlers: “We’re Losing a big part about being human” Toddlers should not be spending time on screens. Coz duh!
Here’s a great episode of The Daily podcast on new legal tactics to hold Meta, Tik Tok and others accountable for the addictive impacts of social media.
where we’ve been
This January, we had the opportunity to lead workshops and coaching sessions for the team at CYC. We focused on delivering practical tools and real-world support to help the staff feel more confident, energized, and equipped for their work.
For DCYF, we wrapped up The Mindful Resilience Series, where we focused on sustaining the well-being of those doing the hard work every day. Alongside that, we dived into Building Welcoming Spaces for Kids with Disabilities, exploring practical ways to ensure every child feels seen and supported. It was an honor to work with these dedicated providers and share tools that make a real difference for kids and staff alike!
We facilitated our Under the Hoodie: The Inner World of Tween Boys for parents at Yu Ming Charter School community. We discussed how perspectives and feelings shift during puberty, how to navigate those 'shutdown vs. blow-up' moments and recognize the unique ways anxiety and ADHD show up in boys.
In partnership with Soul Shoppe, we brought our “Get Off That Phone” workshop to Skyline Elementary. We shared practical strategies to help parents move from digital power struggles to healthy partnerships, focusing on safety, growth, and family harmony in a screen-filled world.
We loved facilitating our recent Fatherhood Engagement workshop for First 5 Mendocino! It was all about moving past basic outreach and finding ways to truly connect with dads. We leaned into some great lessons from San Bernardino County and explored how simple, creative shifts can make programs feel way more welcoming. Everyone left with a handful of "ready-to-go" ideas to start using with the fathers they serve right away.
Book a workshop for your school or organization
Bring The Village Well to your school or organization. We provide powerful, interactive and fun workshops for parents and/or staff. Learn more.
Ed Center, the founder of The Village Well, is a parenting coach and educator certified in the Triple P method. The Village Well is a community of parents in BIPOC families, focused on attaining more joy, calm, and meaning in family life. We coach parents to prioritize their own healing and wellness, deepen connections with their kids, and learn tools to support better behavior. Services include Parenting workshops, Parenting courses, and community events. Our support is culturally-grounded support and honors your unique family. Ready to stop yelling? Schedule a free consultation with one of our team members.
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