Aggression and Spaghetti Straps Don't Go Together

Last night I went through 5 outfits before I could find the right thing to wear to go out with a friend.

Little things you never really think about. It's spring, so the idea of wearing something cute and sleeveless sounded like a good idea, until I put it on and saw my arms. Then I realized how they looked and that I really didn't want people staring wondering what had happened to me. My arms were covered with scratches and bruises. Nicky loses control and without the verbal skills other kids use to express frustration or anger he resorts to hitting, kicking, scratching and pinching. When he pinches he tends to grab my upper arms, lock his fingers in and squeeze as tight as he can - which leaves bruises that look like someone's using me as a punching bag. When I'm home I forget about it. They come, and they go. Just like make up and manicures...so what. But in this moment, when I'm so excited to go out, I wanted to feel pretty, I wanted to be like everyone else and I'm reminded that I'm not.