Tuesday November 14, 2006
I really hate going to bed these days. In order to keep the kiddos safe, I have to lay on my back instead of my stomach, and I have a harder time getting to sleep that way. As a result, I am left with my thoughts as I try to find my way to sleep. I don’t like the thoughts that crowd my brain these days.
During the last weeks I have spent a lot of time looking at videos of Zane, and of course, the nearly daily interaction with therapists. During the day, I have very little problem recognizing his progress and being excited to see him move forward. At night, as I replay the events in my mind, I get lost in the feelings of sadness. It is sad that I am so excited about a nearly 5 year old that got a few verb tenses correct, or asked for help, or said ‘hi’ to somebody. This isn’t what I pictured my parenthood journey to be like.
It is a twist of irony. Proof that God has a sense of humor. Although I like the itty bitty baby phase, simply because if you can cope with the lack of sleep, those first 3 months are not a big mental challange. It is when they start to want stuff, but can’t get it themselves and can’t communicate it easily that I find so challenging. The part of childhood I was looking forward to when I was dreaming of being a parent, was the 3 year old on up ages…when they could tell me what they thought of the world. I was really looking forward to tons of “cute things they say” and all those neat little kid idea. Heck, I was looking forward to the “embarrasing things they say” that *all* parents experience. Instead, I get dissapproving looks because my “too old to be tantruming” child is having a total meltdown in the middle of a store/parking lot/doorway/carseat. Those looks when he does the ‘rag doll collapse’ if we are having to wait in line. The ‘looks’ when he *must* run his finger along the shelf the entire way down the isle of the grocery store…and if it gets interupted, he has to start over again at the end of the isle or we will have one of those meltdowns that will chunk away a good half an hour of our day between the tantrum and the recovery.
I don’t know which is worse…when people will comment “what is wrong with him” or the looks you get when you say “he is autistic”. Contrary to popular belief, I firmly beleive he is aware of how people view him. In fact, rather than being oblivious to social cues, I think, in many ways, he is hyper aware of them. I think the conflict between what people say and what he sees is a large part of his stuggle.
