I barely have time to drink a cup of coffee in the morning, what with the lessons in sharing and such we get to start with from the moment my boys come downstairs in the morning. I run from here to there, addressing this need or that for 99% of the day. So it is a little confusing for me that I have started casting an envious eye towards my pregnant little sister.
I conceded the end of Baby Days while still pregnant with Baby Boy. Puking my way through another pregnancy while taking care of a kiddo was hard, trying to do that while taking care of two kiddos seemed insurmountable. Still from time to time I felt a strong desire for a #3. Then my Hubby did something really amazing. He stopped resisting, told me he could go either way and it was my decision to remake. Within 10 minutes of it being a real possibility I was once again cool with stopping where we were at.
Baby Boy's transition into stages has stopped being sad for me, and instead is an indication of exciting days in our future. Days without diapers and baby gates. Days where the kids are big enough for trips to Disneyland, or to be left with grandparents while Hubby and I take a kidless vacation, something we have never ever done together.
So why...why why why why why...do I feel the yearning for another little bundle of joy? I like sleeping at night and not being anyone's milk cow.
And seriously...am I going to go on this emotional roller coaster every time someone close to me has a baby?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
breaking up with our preschool
We enrolled Little Guy in a summer therapy program for autistic kids and it has been amazing for him. We didn't plan for him go there during the regular school year because (a) it is a healthy commute away, (b) we knew insurance coverage would be a battle and it costs $$$ and (c) I felt it was important to keep Little Guy around typically developing peers.
But from the very first week this program started making a big difference for Little Guy. I thought I must have been imagining it, surely there couldn't be such improvement so soon. Then Hubby noted it. Then in the third week Little Guy's speech therapist, who was completely unaware of his participation in the program, commented how he had been blossoming the last few weeks. I finally accepted that we weren't just seeing what we wanted -- this program was truly and dramatically helpful for Little Guy.
We weighed out pros (the obvious benefit to Little Guy) and cons (3 mornings a week in a metro area with Baby Boy and time in need of killing, for one) but the choice seemed obvious. The kiddos well-being will always trump just about everything, and there is no denying the benefits for Little Guy. Baby Boy isn't exactly complaining about weekly trips to the zoo/museum/cool new park either. So inconvenience and cost for Mommy and Daddy aside, continuing on in the program became the winning option.
Then came battles with insurance, which seem to have come to a favorable resolution thanks to the involvement of a benefits advocate. This means the way is clear for Little Guy to continue on with his program. Yay! It also means that I have to let his preschool know that he will not be returning in the fall.
It is one of those bittersweet turns of life. His preschool is fantastic. They are great with kids, have an excellent curriculum and awesome special events. His teachers and the director have been wonderful and kind, not just to Little Guy but to me during one of the most difficult times in my life.
They were the ones that first clued me in that something was amiss with our high-functioning son. I can vividly recall Little Guy's first day of school ever, when his teacher casually commented that Little Guy didn't talk very much. Speech evaluations and therapy followed. It was in the lobby of that preschool one year later that the visiting Early Intervention teacher told me that she believed he was autistic and should be tested. In the weeks that followed the staff offered me kind words of comfort that mattered very much.
Leaving Little Guy's preschool is in many ways like leaving a community. Autism might have put us on the fringes, but we still had one foot in.
But again, this decision isn't about me. It's about what is best for Little Guy.
If I could rewrite reality, Little Guy would not be autistic. He would be starting his next year of regular preschool and thriving there.
In reality, Little Guy did not thrive there. He is not just another kid, and I am not just another mom.
Except...at his program in the city we are perhaps just that.
So dearest old preschool, I will break up with you and leave behind for good my preconceptions of what preschool for Little Guy would be. It is time for us to dive into our new community...hope there's water in that pool!
But from the very first week this program started making a big difference for Little Guy. I thought I must have been imagining it, surely there couldn't be such improvement so soon. Then Hubby noted it. Then in the third week Little Guy's speech therapist, who was completely unaware of his participation in the program, commented how he had been blossoming the last few weeks. I finally accepted that we weren't just seeing what we wanted -- this program was truly and dramatically helpful for Little Guy.
We weighed out pros (the obvious benefit to Little Guy) and cons (3 mornings a week in a metro area with Baby Boy and time in need of killing, for one) but the choice seemed obvious. The kiddos well-being will always trump just about everything, and there is no denying the benefits for Little Guy. Baby Boy isn't exactly complaining about weekly trips to the zoo/museum/cool new park either. So inconvenience and cost for Mommy and Daddy aside, continuing on in the program became the winning option.
Then came battles with insurance, which seem to have come to a favorable resolution thanks to the involvement of a benefits advocate. This means the way is clear for Little Guy to continue on with his program. Yay! It also means that I have to let his preschool know that he will not be returning in the fall.
It is one of those bittersweet turns of life. His preschool is fantastic. They are great with kids, have an excellent curriculum and awesome special events. His teachers and the director have been wonderful and kind, not just to Little Guy but to me during one of the most difficult times in my life.
They were the ones that first clued me in that something was amiss with our high-functioning son. I can vividly recall Little Guy's first day of school ever, when his teacher casually commented that Little Guy didn't talk very much. Speech evaluations and therapy followed. It was in the lobby of that preschool one year later that the visiting Early Intervention teacher told me that she believed he was autistic and should be tested. In the weeks that followed the staff offered me kind words of comfort that mattered very much.
Leaving Little Guy's preschool is in many ways like leaving a community. Autism might have put us on the fringes, but we still had one foot in.
But again, this decision isn't about me. It's about what is best for Little Guy.
If I could rewrite reality, Little Guy would not be autistic. He would be starting his next year of regular preschool and thriving there.
In reality, Little Guy did not thrive there. He is not just another kid, and I am not just another mom.
Except...at his program in the city we are perhaps just that.
So dearest old preschool, I will break up with you and leave behind for good my preconceptions of what preschool for Little Guy would be. It is time for us to dive into our new community...hope there's water in that pool!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
a new day
It's Sunday morning and we just returned from a trip to the store. And I don't have PTSD from it. Same kiddos, same reluctance to leave the toys at home. Yet today's trip was met with acceptance if not pleasure. There was little argument and at the store Little Guy stayed calmly in tow, waiting with near perfect patience while I searched the shelves, even allowing me a moments peace to weigh my options. He asked me very nicely, "5 more minutes?" and only tried to drive the shopping cart off with Baby Boy once when my selection process stretched too long. He walked right by toys I know he would love to possess without pestering me once to get them. At check out he greeted our cashier with "Nice mustache!" and responded sociably to small talk. The only melt down the whole time was a small one from Baby Boy, who feels it is a great injustice that Big Brother gets to walk in stores while he must ride in the cart. The cherry on top of this nice trip -- listening to another mom one aisle over come completely unglued screaming at her kids to behave. "That is not how you behave!" and "Because I said so" were generously verbalized. Don't get me wrong, I feel for that stressed out mom. But THANK you, universe, for both letting someone else have a turn and for showing me I am not alone in my store drama issues.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
another day in the life
This Saturday morning I took my little folk to the store with me. Little Guy did not want to go. Little Guy seldom wants to leave the house. He handles leaving for routine things like his weekly appointments or school pretty well, but spring a trip to Target on him and watch the drama unfold.
It starts from the moment he is informed we will be going. His face falls immediately into an expression of distress and he emphatically tells me "No, we are NOT going to the store! We're staying home!" I say something like,"Yes, yes we are" which usually gets a "The store is broken" or another "No, we're staying home". I disregard his protests and he becomes my unwilling participant in getting dressed, brushing his teeth, combing his hair and getting his shoes on. Baby Boy, it should be noted, is excited and happy to be going somewhere. He can't wait to brush his teeth and put his shoes on.
Eventually we head out the door, Little Guy still protesting. Once in the vehicle and resigned to the fact that we are actually leaving the house, he attempts to persuade me to another destination. No, we are not going to the pet store instead. After a brief respite provided by the distraction of music, the selection of which is a whole other mini drama, we park at the store where we can return to the drama on the main stage, called "Little Guy does not want to go the store!"
We are walking up to the store now and he is still protesting. Simple, well reasoned explanations that we need to go to the store and won't be there long are a waste of breath. Both calm demands that he behave himself and sharper words to "cut it out" yield pitiful and tearful pleadings of "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry!" He will dissolve into further despair and continue to chant this until he is told "It's ok". Try to explain to him what he did wrong, why you're upset, or that what he did really wasn't cool and it will only yield more of the chant. If you don't say anything, he will eventually instruct you in between tearful sniffles, "Say 'It's ok.'" Those are literally the only words he wants to hear, the only words that will calm him down. This is how Little Guy reacts to 90% of any kind of rebuke these days, be it gentle or sharp, over something minor or something important. Tearful, pitiful, "I'm so sorrys" that make you feel like the meanest and most heartless person on earth.
And so we enter the wonderful land of Target: one unhappy preschooler, one happy camper toddler and one mom still keeping it together with most my calm in tact. We have 90 beautiful seconds of walking peacefully through the store before Little Guy starts screaming and announces he has hurt his toe. How I have no idea, and it looks fine but I pick him up and hug him and try to calm him down. He doesn't want to let go of me and is still quite upset, so I set him on the shopping cart handles and with him grasping on to me like a spider monkey push on to collect the items on our list. Soon I set him down and within 30 seconds he steps in front of the cart and gets his foot run over. Replay of crying, hugging, spider monkey scene.
In the classical sense of time our shopping trip has been quite short, but in Mommy Time we've been in Target for about 8 years when I put the last few things in our cart. Since that first 90 second stretch of peace not 30 seconds has gone by without some kind of unhappy outburst from Little Guy, who is truly an emotional mess at this point. Some of my fellow shoppers give me small smiles of sympathy and understanding and really I appreciate that. This isn't my first time starring in the public kiddie meltdown show, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it.
By checkout time the outbursts have evolved into dissatisfaction that I will buy him neither a unicorn pillow pet nor a toy tractor. In realization of his final defeat on these matters, Little Guy crouches into a ball in front of our cart and weeps while I swipe my credit card. The cashier makes small talk with Baby Boy, sitting in the cart and being adorable. As I sign my name on the screen the cashier says, "You have one cute kid". I know there is a way to say those words that is simply a nice compliment to Baby Boy, not intended as a slight to my other child. But that is not the way it came out of his mouth.
I guess I need little cards to hand out that say, "My child is not a brat, he is autistic." And also some that say "Fuck you, asshole."
It starts from the moment he is informed we will be going. His face falls immediately into an expression of distress and he emphatically tells me "No, we are NOT going to the store! We're staying home!" I say something like,"Yes, yes we are" which usually gets a "The store is broken" or another "No, we're staying home". I disregard his protests and he becomes my unwilling participant in getting dressed, brushing his teeth, combing his hair and getting his shoes on. Baby Boy, it should be noted, is excited and happy to be going somewhere. He can't wait to brush his teeth and put his shoes on.
Eventually we head out the door, Little Guy still protesting. Once in the vehicle and resigned to the fact that we are actually leaving the house, he attempts to persuade me to another destination. No, we are not going to the pet store instead. After a brief respite provided by the distraction of music, the selection of which is a whole other mini drama, we park at the store where we can return to the drama on the main stage, called "Little Guy does not want to go the store!"
We are walking up to the store now and he is still protesting. Simple, well reasoned explanations that we need to go to the store and won't be there long are a waste of breath. Both calm demands that he behave himself and sharper words to "cut it out" yield pitiful and tearful pleadings of "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry!" He will dissolve into further despair and continue to chant this until he is told "It's ok". Try to explain to him what he did wrong, why you're upset, or that what he did really wasn't cool and it will only yield more of the chant. If you don't say anything, he will eventually instruct you in between tearful sniffles, "Say 'It's ok.'" Those are literally the only words he wants to hear, the only words that will calm him down. This is how Little Guy reacts to 90% of any kind of rebuke these days, be it gentle or sharp, over something minor or something important. Tearful, pitiful, "I'm so sorrys" that make you feel like the meanest and most heartless person on earth.
And so we enter the wonderful land of Target: one unhappy preschooler, one happy camper toddler and one mom still keeping it together with most my calm in tact. We have 90 beautiful seconds of walking peacefully through the store before Little Guy starts screaming and announces he has hurt his toe. How I have no idea, and it looks fine but I pick him up and hug him and try to calm him down. He doesn't want to let go of me and is still quite upset, so I set him on the shopping cart handles and with him grasping on to me like a spider monkey push on to collect the items on our list. Soon I set him down and within 30 seconds he steps in front of the cart and gets his foot run over. Replay of crying, hugging, spider monkey scene.
In the classical sense of time our shopping trip has been quite short, but in Mommy Time we've been in Target for about 8 years when I put the last few things in our cart. Since that first 90 second stretch of peace not 30 seconds has gone by without some kind of unhappy outburst from Little Guy, who is truly an emotional mess at this point. Some of my fellow shoppers give me small smiles of sympathy and understanding and really I appreciate that. This isn't my first time starring in the public kiddie meltdown show, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it.
By checkout time the outbursts have evolved into dissatisfaction that I will buy him neither a unicorn pillow pet nor a toy tractor. In realization of his final defeat on these matters, Little Guy crouches into a ball in front of our cart and weeps while I swipe my credit card. The cashier makes small talk with Baby Boy, sitting in the cart and being adorable. As I sign my name on the screen the cashier says, "You have one cute kid". I know there is a way to say those words that is simply a nice compliment to Baby Boy, not intended as a slight to my other child. But that is not the way it came out of his mouth.
I guess I need little cards to hand out that say, "My child is not a brat, he is autistic." And also some that say "Fuck you, asshole."
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