“We love dogs!” Phoebe says.

“Not that any dog care will be required, since, as you can see, I’ve got that covered.” I hug the dog through the cotton, then stick my hand inside the sling for a calming hit of fur. Yum.

“As you can see,” Gary says, “Judy wears the dog.”

Nick and Phoebe shrug inside their giant costumes. “That’s cool. That’s cool,” Nick says. “Everyone has their thing.”

“It’s a long story,” Gary explains, “which I’m sure Judy will eventually tell you—she tells everyone at some point.”

“Because I’ve worked past my shame.”

Gary nods. “Yes, she’s worked past her shame.”

“Shame was very big in my family.”

“Shame is big in everyone’s family, Judy.”

I ignore Gary. “I used to be embarrassed about the sling but I’m not anymore. This may not be who I am forever but it’s who I am right now.” I have no idea what I’m talking about. (“Professional social workers ‘meet people where they are’ and so should you: how self-acceptance is the secret sauce of self-help.”)

“We certainly hope it’s not who you are forever!” Gary says, elbowing me lightly.

“But it’s who I am right now,” I repeat. (“Looking for a life anthem? Edie Brickell FTW: ‘What I am is what I am.’”)

“Indeed it is.”

The bird on my head has a bird on its head, which I take as my cue to stand up and head toward the kitchen. “How about a house tour?”

* * *

I won’t lie: it feels strange to have giant costumed characters in our house, knowing they’ll soon take over the snoring room, which will force Gary and me to share a bedroom again, albeit temporarily. The sound of their hoof-shoes on the wood floors, the way the fabric of their oversize clothes catches on doors and stair banisters, how they need to bow their papier-mâché heads under light fixtures and entry moldings: it’s what I do all the time, too, I realize now. Maneuvering the sling in stairwells and around furniture, I’m always conscious of my width in tight spaces and squishing the sling when necessary—and this ability to navigate daily life encumbered by such a protrusion suddenly feels like an actual skill, one I could list on a résumé, which I should probably start sending out at some point to supplement the Well/er work. But for now I try to stop looking at them like they have birds on their heads, and try to remember instead why they’re here and why we’re doing this: for the money. And for Glenn. And to move past our still point.

We all head toward the kitchen, but before I can even finish showing Phoebe our “open pantry” (which is really just a closet that was missing a door when we bought the house and which we never bothered to fix and ended up filling with makeshift shelving) and brag about our love of organic grains and commitment to #MeatlessMondays (in truth, we had just one vegetarian Monday) to help save the planet—all lies—Teddy peels off to go back upstairs, and the men—Gary and Nick—slip down the other stairs to the basement, where they will undoubtedly be up to no good in no time.