Today I got to look at the other side of my life. I took Daniel to a Toddler and Mom play group. I walked in to the building and was directed to the room where the class was being held. Even before I walked into the room I could hear Sally Noname Jr. screaming. No, 'screaming' isn't the right word. The best word to describe it would be an autistic scream. It is more throaty, deeper, and... well just trust me, different. How I feel about this sound is very similar to a parent of a young child. You just know your kids cry. You also know if its real, fake, or urgent. This was autistic.
Daniel and I walk into the room and it is everything I can do not to stare at this women and her child. I try no to, because it is rude to stare. I just cant help myself. I steal glances every few minutes. I know she sees me, and I am sure she thinking I am judging her, but I just can't help it. Do I look like that? I get a moment to actually pay attention to how the other parents react to her child having what my family calls an episode. I see her scramble to get things out of her bag to help calm Sally Jr. down- knowing they are sensory toys and tools. To a normal person she just looks like a mom trying to bribe her kid toward good behavior with toys when she should be disciplining them. But I know better, and I just want to hug her.
A younger women scoots over to help try to get Sally Jr. under control. Mom goes in the bag again and pulls out a vest. Not just any vest- the exact same vest I was looking at online last night. The one I can't find in any stores to actually touch and feel. This is a weighted compression sensory vest. Now I know I am obviously staring at this women and child because I am leaning and moving around other moms and kids to get a look at this vest, how it fits, and more importantly how her child reacts to it. I see her glance at me out of the corner of her eye- wondering if I am about to give her 'My 2 cents worth'.
Sally Jr. is taken out of the room- surly as punishment. When she calms down and behaves she can join in on the fun, right? No. I know exactly why. Because it is a small space, and there is a lot of stimulation. Sally's shoes and socks come off. Of course they do, I totally get it. I mean I could trade places with this women and have this be an average Wednesday afternoon.
I can't wait another second and end up pouncing on this poor lady.
"Where did you get the vest?" She tried to tell me that it's not just a normal fashionable piece of clothing, but I interrupt her- "Do you think it works? How do you like it? How long have you had it? How did you know about the sizing?" At this point I bet she thinks I have sensory issues and want the vest for myself! I see her face change as she realizes I know what its like for her, and she starts talking to me like I am an old friend.
How refreshing! We talk about judgements we have made, and that have been made against us. She shares her tips and tricks to get through the days, and stand there nodding in agreement, wide eyed wondering how she can read my mind so easily. I look over and see her daughter line up cars in a single neat perfect row and it tugged at my heart. I myself have blogged about this exact behavior.
Someone else is living this life too.
It is bittersweet. I hate for anyone to have to go through this, but I love to see it out in public. As I sat watching her daughter and talking with her, it was like we were part of the same secret club.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
A Coward in th Hall
Snacks... can't forget snacks... Oh and shoes... 2 left ones, no that's wrong. Where is the right one?? 6:15am, how is it that late already? I should have started earlier, why didn't I get up at 4:30? I was awake anyway. What a waste of time laying in bed 'thinking' over how today is going to go. No time for that now. Focus. I need more focus. Where are the snacks?
Fast forward an hour car drive.
Wow, is this a hospital, or a mall? (I look up and see floor after floor above me with open hallways. Real plants are by the entrance, and there is lots of natural light. How did they do that? I look up even further and see a huge sky light, not unlike what you would see in a mall. I wonder for a moment if I am in the right place. Then I snap out of it and realize I am in the way as a rush of technicians, nurses and doctors make their way past us to start their normal workday. Normal workday for them, emotionally difficult day for us. Okay, time to move before we get run over. I grab the handle on the stroller, careful not to knock off the blanket covering Nora while balancing the bag of snacks, toys, and extra large file folder of Daniels medical information. Taylor follows behind with a happy, unsuspecting Daniel.
Do I have his insurance card? Where is my wallet? Oh no, did I forget it? This wouldn't be happening if I got up earlier, or prepared last night. Why do I wait to the last minuet for...Oh there it is. Okay.
I stand at reception ready to check in.
I overhear the receptionists talking about leaving early tomorrow for a long weekend. I can't think about this weekend, I can't think about right now. How did I get to a place where I have to take my kid to see so many doctors? Do we even REALLY need to be here?
"Miss?!"
What? Oh right, lost in thought again, she must think I am ignoring her. I walk up and hand her the insurance card. She smiles at me and give me directions to the correct waiting area and we move along.
There are so many people here. All of them in a hurry. Some smile as we walk by, others look scared and anxious. How long have we been walking? Did I miss the turn? Is it just me, or does this hallway get longer the farther I walk down it. For a moment I pretend I am in a movie and acting out someone elses life as the end of the hallway stretches unrealistically into the distance. Back to reality- I look down at the little map crumpled up in my hands and realize we are 'here'.
The man in a white coat is talking, but I can't understand him. Why is he mumbling? Should I ask him to talk louder? Is that rude? I don't want to make him mad, he is dealing with my son after all... Crap, what did he just say? Why am I so distracted? How hard can this be anyway. I finally force myself to stay focused.
The next thing I know we have Bob the Builder on, and begins to puts the stickers (leads) for the EEG on his chest. Two go on Daniels chest and the rest go on his head. The first sticker goes on, and Daniel goes wild. Screaming, fighting, yelling, thrashing around. He does not like this man in his personal space, and he hates the leads on him. I try to calm Daniel down, my heart slowly ripping in two. Taylor has Nora in his arms, waiting for me to let him know I need help.
It only took a few minuets for me to realize that I just couldn't do this. I couldn't physically hold my child down. I stepped back, took Nora from Taylor and he stepped in my place. I am so thankful for my husband.
Breath, breath, breath. I have to be strong. Daniel needs me to be strong. (Screaming, moaning, fighting, awful sounds bouncing off the white walls of the dark room) I have to be strong... but I can't be. I am not. I step back slowly, horror in my eyes as I see Taylor climb on top of Daniel to restrain him. Tears are falling, the only reason I know this is because my face is wet. How long had I been crying? Finally I feel the door behind me and I reach for the knob, pop the door open and slip into the hallway. I hear the click of the door shut. With my back to the wall I slide down and sit on the floor.
I am coward. I am a failure. I should be in there. What kind of mother runs out of the room? God, you did not design me for this. I am a coward. A coward. Daniel needs a mother that is stronger, one that would stay. I am brought out of my thoughts by a deep, almost animal like sound that comes from my son. I cradle Nora tighter in my arms, get up and go back in.
The first thing I see is Daniel, his head bandaged up with wires coming out in all directions. I am frozen for a moment in shock from the sight. Then his eyes meet mine, and an already bad situation turns worse. I realize that there is nothing I can do that would be helpful here, and say that Nora and I will go for a walk and we will meet them when it is finished.
A perfect opportunity for a coward.
My already broken heart is being ripped into shreds as I walk out of the room for the second time, hearing my son fight to be 'free'.
I need something. I need someone. I need a distraction... I see a row of pay phones. $0.25 per minute. Okay, I can do that... Minimum 3 minutes... Fine, whatever... I open my wallet. I only have $0.70.
Ok God, I get it, but I really don't feel like talking to you right now.
Dressed like I got up at 5 am, tear stains on my face, and a heavy heart I start to push Nora in the stroller down the longest hallway I have ever walked.
I am on the 5th floor walking laps around the corridors when I hear Daniels horse pitiful cry from 3 floors down. If I could fly, I would have jumped over the railing to get to him faster. I ran to the elevator and as soon as I could scooped up my first born son, so happy to breath him in.
He was worn, he was tired, and was slightly upset still, but he was okay. He slept the whole hour ride home, and after lunch was his normal happy self. Except for his voice. Every time I could hear the strain in it I am paralyzed with guilt. He doesn't seem to be effected by this mornings events too much. He surely doesn't blame or hate me for leaving.
My thought is how do I stop hating myself?
Fast forward an hour car drive.
Wow, is this a hospital, or a mall? (I look up and see floor after floor above me with open hallways. Real plants are by the entrance, and there is lots of natural light. How did they do that? I look up even further and see a huge sky light, not unlike what you would see in a mall. I wonder for a moment if I am in the right place. Then I snap out of it and realize I am in the way as a rush of technicians, nurses and doctors make their way past us to start their normal workday. Normal workday for them, emotionally difficult day for us. Okay, time to move before we get run over. I grab the handle on the stroller, careful not to knock off the blanket covering Nora while balancing the bag of snacks, toys, and extra large file folder of Daniels medical information. Taylor follows behind with a happy, unsuspecting Daniel.
Do I have his insurance card? Where is my wallet? Oh no, did I forget it? This wouldn't be happening if I got up earlier, or prepared last night. Why do I wait to the last minuet for...Oh there it is. Okay.
I stand at reception ready to check in.
I overhear the receptionists talking about leaving early tomorrow for a long weekend. I can't think about this weekend, I can't think about right now. How did I get to a place where I have to take my kid to see so many doctors? Do we even REALLY need to be here?
"Miss?!"
What? Oh right, lost in thought again, she must think I am ignoring her. I walk up and hand her the insurance card. She smiles at me and give me directions to the correct waiting area and we move along.
There are so many people here. All of them in a hurry. Some smile as we walk by, others look scared and anxious. How long have we been walking? Did I miss the turn? Is it just me, or does this hallway get longer the farther I walk down it. For a moment I pretend I am in a movie and acting out someone elses life as the end of the hallway stretches unrealistically into the distance. Back to reality- I look down at the little map crumpled up in my hands and realize we are 'here'.
The man in a white coat is talking, but I can't understand him. Why is he mumbling? Should I ask him to talk louder? Is that rude? I don't want to make him mad, he is dealing with my son after all... Crap, what did he just say? Why am I so distracted? How hard can this be anyway. I finally force myself to stay focused.
The next thing I know we have Bob the Builder on, and begins to puts the stickers (leads) for the EEG on his chest. Two go on Daniels chest and the rest go on his head. The first sticker goes on, and Daniel goes wild. Screaming, fighting, yelling, thrashing around. He does not like this man in his personal space, and he hates the leads on him. I try to calm Daniel down, my heart slowly ripping in two. Taylor has Nora in his arms, waiting for me to let him know I need help.
It only took a few minuets for me to realize that I just couldn't do this. I couldn't physically hold my child down. I stepped back, took Nora from Taylor and he stepped in my place. I am so thankful for my husband.
Breath, breath, breath. I have to be strong. Daniel needs me to be strong. (Screaming, moaning, fighting, awful sounds bouncing off the white walls of the dark room) I have to be strong... but I can't be. I am not. I step back slowly, horror in my eyes as I see Taylor climb on top of Daniel to restrain him. Tears are falling, the only reason I know this is because my face is wet. How long had I been crying? Finally I feel the door behind me and I reach for the knob, pop the door open and slip into the hallway. I hear the click of the door shut. With my back to the wall I slide down and sit on the floor.
I am coward. I am a failure. I should be in there. What kind of mother runs out of the room? God, you did not design me for this. I am a coward. A coward. Daniel needs a mother that is stronger, one that would stay. I am brought out of my thoughts by a deep, almost animal like sound that comes from my son. I cradle Nora tighter in my arms, get up and go back in.
The first thing I see is Daniel, his head bandaged up with wires coming out in all directions. I am frozen for a moment in shock from the sight. Then his eyes meet mine, and an already bad situation turns worse. I realize that there is nothing I can do that would be helpful here, and say that Nora and I will go for a walk and we will meet them when it is finished.
A perfect opportunity for a coward.
My already broken heart is being ripped into shreds as I walk out of the room for the second time, hearing my son fight to be 'free'.
I need something. I need someone. I need a distraction... I see a row of pay phones. $0.25 per minute. Okay, I can do that... Minimum 3 minutes... Fine, whatever... I open my wallet. I only have $0.70.
Ok God, I get it, but I really don't feel like talking to you right now.
Dressed like I got up at 5 am, tear stains on my face, and a heavy heart I start to push Nora in the stroller down the longest hallway I have ever walked.
I am on the 5th floor walking laps around the corridors when I hear Daniels horse pitiful cry from 3 floors down. If I could fly, I would have jumped over the railing to get to him faster. I ran to the elevator and as soon as I could scooped up my first born son, so happy to breath him in.
He was worn, he was tired, and was slightly upset still, but he was okay. He slept the whole hour ride home, and after lunch was his normal happy self. Except for his voice. Every time I could hear the strain in it I am paralyzed with guilt. He doesn't seem to be effected by this mornings events too much. He surely doesn't blame or hate me for leaving.
My thought is how do I stop hating myself?
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Welcome to Holland
Welcome to Holland
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Michelangelo David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?" I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to some horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy a new guidebook. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
The pain of that will never, ever, go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.
But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.
Written by Emily Perl Kingsley
30%
I expected a lot when I had my fist child. I expected the pain of labor, and the joy of his first smile. I wasn't shocked by how hard it was on me the first time he got a major boo-boo, or by how frustrated I get by disobedience. There aren't many huge shockers with kids, after all you were one.
Also you know how to be a parent before you even come close to becoming one. Just like knowing how to drive before you ever get behind the wheel. You have seen it done for years, and when you finally get the keys in your hands most things come second nature. Sure, there are some things you pick up along the way, how to change a tire or the best place to get gas, but when all is said and done you really have been driving way longer then you have had a license, just as a passenger.
It is all about expectations, acceptance, and adapting
Let me give you the deal with Daniel. My other posts have been about my emotions, thoughts, personal fyi's if you will, about my son having Autism. Well, here is the meat and bones about it as I see and understand it.
Daniel was diagnoses 1 month before his 2nd birthday. By the time you are 3, your brain is basically set on how its going to work. Since we figured out whats going on with Daniel early we have the next year to try and change the way his brain processes information. We have this time to work with him, teach him, and change the way we 'play' to hopefully lesson the symptoms. When he is 3 years old, we will go back to the Developmental Center where he will be re-tested. There is a 30% chance the diagnosis will be dropped.
I used to see that as a 70% chance my son will be....wrong. I heard it whispered in my ear all the time.
That was when I was angry, and that was when I was hurting.
The first thing we did to 'fight back' was make drastic changes to Daniels diet. Autism, to get really basic here, starts in the stomach. Ideally we clean up Daniels diet, his stomaching isn't working so hard to clean out toxins, and his brain can function better. We did a blood food allergy test, and eliminated basically everything. My sons diet is fruit, veggies, meat, eggs, corn and rice. Nothing pre packaged, and nothing that I don't make myself.
4 weeks later.
I have spent the last month accepting. I accepted 70%. I accepted this as my life. I accepted that Daniel will always be a fight, and I would never hear him say the word Momma. 70%.
I did not expect to see changes in Daniel and I didn't believe it when I started to see them. I didn't want to get my hopes up. 70% ... But they were there. They are still there. Every day I am seeing progress. Small, little things. I point to my nose, and he points to his. The fact that I can hold his attention and eye contact long enough for him to mimic me brings me to my knees in grateful prayer. Over and over again small, little things, happen that make my heart burst with joy. Pointing to an airplane and looking at me to share in the joy of seeing the aircraft. Running to my bedroom door when Nora crys after her nap. I didn't want to believe it, but I couldn't ignore it... still though, a 70% chance next year I would end up broken and devastated again.
Then there was one other change, one moment that changed my heart forever.
If you were there you wouldn't have any idea what happened. It was only clear to Taylor and I, but in his own way, like our secret language, Daniel told me that he loved me.
Out of everything I know about parenting, nothing prepared me for the rush of emotions I felt from hearing something I wished for so badly, something that I thought would never happen. I looked at Taylor, hesitated slightly holding back tears, and choked out the words for the first time
"We are going to be the 30%, aren't we?"
He looked at Daniel as if in hopeful thought, looked back at me, smiled and gave a confident nod.
"We are."
Friday, August 2, 2013
The Waiting Game
We have a new book to read- add it to the pile, right? This one is different. It is from the website AutismSpeaks.org, a wonderful program that sent me a book called The 100 Day Kit. As you can tell it is a guide to the first 100 days after diagnosis. I wont get into much detail, you can get it yourself if you are truly interested, but I do feel some parts are notable in this stage for me.
They openly discuss the many stages of grief for the 'First Step'. Just reading through that part almost sent me back to bed in tears thinking of the physical pain I still feel daily. I remembered throwing a library book across the room with so much anger at the words highly functioning. I still watch Daniel and think to myself 'Maybe we are all overreacting, he seems so fine'. So yes, I have to agree that grieving is The First Step.
Okay, so the hard part is over, right? Moving on to The Next Step. In all the books, article, pamphlets, and phone calls I have suffered through this is where I 'should be' in this process. Paperwork, setting up evaluations, becoming familiar with programs and facilities in my area, and knowing my insurance coverage like the back of my hand. You can go right ahead and just check all those off on the to do list. Like I said earlier, Mrs. Organization.
So now what?
Now we wait. We wait for services to start. Wait for paperwork to 'go through', wait for therapists to be assigned and openings in schedules for Daniel to get in. Wait, wait, wait. I hated waiting as a kid. It was always easier on adults to wait, or so I thought. Now I realize waiting sucks at any age. In the meantime we will do what we can at home and continue to grow stronger as a family.
They openly discuss the many stages of grief for the 'First Step'. Just reading through that part almost sent me back to bed in tears thinking of the physical pain I still feel daily. I remembered throwing a library book across the room with so much anger at the words highly functioning. I still watch Daniel and think to myself 'Maybe we are all overreacting, he seems so fine'. So yes, I have to agree that grieving is The First Step.
Okay, so the hard part is over, right? Moving on to The Next Step. In all the books, article, pamphlets, and phone calls I have suffered through this is where I 'should be' in this process. Paperwork, setting up evaluations, becoming familiar with programs and facilities in my area, and knowing my insurance coverage like the back of my hand. You can go right ahead and just check all those off on the to do list. Like I said earlier, Mrs. Organization.
So now what?
Now we wait. We wait for services to start. Wait for paperwork to 'go through', wait for therapists to be assigned and openings in schedules for Daniel to get in. Wait, wait, wait. I hated waiting as a kid. It was always easier on adults to wait, or so I thought. Now I realize waiting sucks at any age. In the meantime we will do what we can at home and continue to grow stronger as a family.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Judgement Day
Mrs. Sally Noname (as referred to in my earlier post) is a real person(s). She is my nosey neighbor, my generous friend, or the lady in the grocery store that ticks me off so much I need to rant about her. Today she is my friend, and I was going to send her this in an email, but I feel it may be better served as a eye opener for anyone who is willing to read it. Never judge another mother.
Dear Sally,
It was great seeing you today, I am amazed that you and Sally Jr. could meet us at the park last minute. Wish we could have talked a bit more, but play dates with 2 year old are more like an aerobic class, right?
As you saw, Daniel took a turn for the worst toward the end. He lost control, and I lost my patience. When my son has 'bad days' it is very hard for both of us. I am getting to the point where I can tell when he wakes up if he is 'here' today or not. I knew today was going to be a struggle and tried to intervene by getting out to the park. Thinking some physical activity would change the pace of the downfall that started this morning. I am admitting that I was wrong.
I could see the change is Daniels eyes when he and Sally Jr. were running up and down the hill. One moment he was with us, and then he was gone. Please understand that without words, and not being able to communicate, when Daniel 'goes away' I fear he is all alone in a very sad, dark place in his head.
You were wonderful when he had his melt down.. Offering help, and asking what I needed from you. Not telling me what I was doing wrong, or what you would do differently. I appreciate that. I also want you to know that as you walked away, and I yelled at the top of my lungs at Daniel- it was out of fear. My worst fear in times like that is him banging his head on the concrete. Wearing Nora, and fighting with him, it was very hard to control that. I want so badly to do it all right, but I know it is just not realistic. Please know I apologised to Daniel when we got home for yelling.
I am getting the hang of this, through trial and error, but it is great to know I have friends who support (not judge) me along the way.
Love,
Ashley
Dear Sally,
It was great seeing you today, I am amazed that you and Sally Jr. could meet us at the park last minute. Wish we could have talked a bit more, but play dates with 2 year old are more like an aerobic class, right?
As you saw, Daniel took a turn for the worst toward the end. He lost control, and I lost my patience. When my son has 'bad days' it is very hard for both of us. I am getting to the point where I can tell when he wakes up if he is 'here' today or not. I knew today was going to be a struggle and tried to intervene by getting out to the park. Thinking some physical activity would change the pace of the downfall that started this morning. I am admitting that I was wrong.
I could see the change is Daniels eyes when he and Sally Jr. were running up and down the hill. One moment he was with us, and then he was gone. Please understand that without words, and not being able to communicate, when Daniel 'goes away' I fear he is all alone in a very sad, dark place in his head.
You were wonderful when he had his melt down.. Offering help, and asking what I needed from you. Not telling me what I was doing wrong, or what you would do differently. I appreciate that. I also want you to know that as you walked away, and I yelled at the top of my lungs at Daniel- it was out of fear. My worst fear in times like that is him banging his head on the concrete. Wearing Nora, and fighting with him, it was very hard to control that. I want so badly to do it all right, but I know it is just not realistic. Please know I apologised to Daniel when we got home for yelling.
I am getting the hang of this, through trial and error, but it is great to know I have friends who support (not judge) me along the way.
Love,
Ashley
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Normal Is Another Word For Average
I am challenged with the word 'Normal'. Before I actually get into my point and thoughts on how this related to my journey with Daniel lets take a moment to actually look at the word.
When it comes to describing children, normal is a huge range. They take a bazillion children, find the average number that hit milestones, at what age, and boom- Normal. At this rate 'normal' should be a synonym for 'average', right? Let talk about the kids who hit above the normal mark. Are they exceptional? Will they always be above that normal range? Do we as parents get a moment to relax, breath and brag because we are 'doing it right'? This leads us to the children who fall in just under. Where does that leave them? Where does that leave their parents? Worried, stressed, and pushing their kid? Or defeated, frustrated and disappointed? It really makes you wonder what life was like before we had this 'normal/average' for parents. Expectations had to be different, if only because they didn't know any better. And I say 'didn't know any better' in a very positive way.
Daniel always hit his milestones early. Teeth- early. Rolling over- early. Walking- early. I could go on and on, and trust me I did! My baby was exceptional! We were way over that 'normal' range and proud to share with anyone who would listen. I don't know at what point I stopped looking at the Normal Curve that we as parents go by. Maybe once he started walking, I always felt like that was the last big milestone, and everything would just fall into place after.
Now I look at Daniels actions and wonder, is that normal? Or is that because he is autistic? Don't all two year old children throw tantrums? I know they do, but is it the same? I assume it is easier for Sally Noname and her two year old. Her daughter fits in the normal spectrum. Sure little Sally Jr. throws a rant, but is it every single time the door is opened? Is it to the same extent as with Daniel? In the moments, the many, many moments I am dragging him away from our kitchen door I think it is impossible that anyone else would have to do this with their child. Other parents don't come and go through the kitchen window to simply avoid meltdown number 4 when it is only 10 am. Then again, I could be wrong, it could all be very normal. I mean average. No, wait, normal?
So this is what happens in my brain during the day now. Watching Daniel and wondering if what he is doing is normal for his age. Why? Normal or not, he is going to do what he does. If my sons time at breakfast fits into some neat little box that I can label 'Average Behavior' how does that change our day? Simply put- it doesn't. I don't want to be misunderstood here, it's not a comparison of Daniel and Sally Jr. but just a basic understanding of what this average is. For some reason it is important for me to know what is autistic, and what is just the terrible twos. I want to know what he will grow out of, and what I need to adjust in my life to accept. Only time will tell me that, not some government approved study that set the standard for normal.
Besides, don't we all want to strive for above average? And if not us, then at least our children?
When it comes to describing children, normal is a huge range. They take a bazillion children, find the average number that hit milestones, at what age, and boom- Normal. At this rate 'normal' should be a synonym for 'average', right? Let talk about the kids who hit above the normal mark. Are they exceptional? Will they always be above that normal range? Do we as parents get a moment to relax, breath and brag because we are 'doing it right'? This leads us to the children who fall in just under. Where does that leave them? Where does that leave their parents? Worried, stressed, and pushing their kid? Or defeated, frustrated and disappointed? It really makes you wonder what life was like before we had this 'normal/average' for parents. Expectations had to be different, if only because they didn't know any better. And I say 'didn't know any better' in a very positive way.
Daniel always hit his milestones early. Teeth- early. Rolling over- early. Walking- early. I could go on and on, and trust me I did! My baby was exceptional! We were way over that 'normal' range and proud to share with anyone who would listen. I don't know at what point I stopped looking at the Normal Curve that we as parents go by. Maybe once he started walking, I always felt like that was the last big milestone, and everything would just fall into place after.
Now I look at Daniels actions and wonder, is that normal? Or is that because he is autistic? Don't all two year old children throw tantrums? I know they do, but is it the same? I assume it is easier for Sally Noname and her two year old. Her daughter fits in the normal spectrum. Sure little Sally Jr. throws a rant, but is it every single time the door is opened? Is it to the same extent as with Daniel? In the moments, the many, many moments I am dragging him away from our kitchen door I think it is impossible that anyone else would have to do this with their child. Other parents don't come and go through the kitchen window to simply avoid meltdown number 4 when it is only 10 am. Then again, I could be wrong, it could all be very normal. I mean average. No, wait, normal?
So this is what happens in my brain during the day now. Watching Daniel and wondering if what he is doing is normal for his age. Why? Normal or not, he is going to do what he does. If my sons time at breakfast fits into some neat little box that I can label 'Average Behavior' how does that change our day? Simply put- it doesn't. I don't want to be misunderstood here, it's not a comparison of Daniel and Sally Jr. but just a basic understanding of what this average is. For some reason it is important for me to know what is autistic, and what is just the terrible twos. I want to know what he will grow out of, and what I need to adjust in my life to accept. Only time will tell me that, not some government approved study that set the standard for normal.
Besides, don't we all want to strive for above average? And if not us, then at least our children?
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