The term “crip time,” upcycled from the word crippled, captures the ways a disabled body moves out of sync with linear time, inaccessible spaces, and our culture’s compulsive productivity. As a caretaker, I often live in crip time—refilling syringes, searching for the elevator, waiting on hold for the doctor, the pharmacist, the insurance agent, the school nurse. It’s impossible to clock my hours as a disability parent, but I know that everything simply takes longer. Though I
