My younger son is autistic. He's 7 years old now, and he was different from the start. That means 7 years of dealing with doctors, schools, aid workers, IEPs, and other parents. It also means I've had 7 years to get used to the label. To know that my son is indeed autistic. To get over the denial most parents of autistic children go through.
In those 7 years of dealing with my autistic son, I've heard dozens of parents say, "I don't want them labelled." And I never understand it. I can't fathom why any parent would shy away from a label that will only help. Here's why I haven't resisted having a 'label' for my son.
- It's not about me. His diagnosis, his label, his IEP. Not mine. Putting my head in the sand and pretending he's not autistic is for my benefit, not his. It doesn't help him, and it can hurt him by not allowing him to access the services he actually needs.
- Everyone has a label. I was the smart one. My older son is the mouthy one. His best friend is the shy one. Labels all. Because my younger son is only 7, his classmates don't know too much about autism. So he's the weird one. He's the one who flaps his hands. He's already labelled. I might as well make sure it's the correct label.
- A label is practical. I know that's not a fun word. But sometimes practical is necessary. Having a single word, a single diagnosis, to describe my son means I don't have to spend 4 hours explaining his problem. And he does have a problem, so I can't afford those 4 hours anyway.
- A label means he gets help. Even with that label, it's hard to get help, especially in the schools. IEPs don't grow in trees, after all. The law might say your kid is entitled to a free and appropriate education, but if you don't have a label, your special needs kid WILL slip through cracks. It's going to happen.
One thing I've learned over the last 7 years is that none of it is about me. My discomfort isn't important. What is important is my son. He needs certain services, and those services can only be accessed by those with a firm diagnosis.
So I got over myself and learned to accept what was. My son is a beautiful, loving, smart little boy who happens to have autism. That label doesn't lessen who he is. It just means he has more opportunities than he would have without that label.
Being a new mom is hard under the most perfect of conditions. You're tired, sore, and probably dirty because you've forgotten to take a shower for the past week. And that's when you have the ideal situation.
When you have a baby who won't sleep, the situation is just that much worse. This was where I found myself when my second son was born. He didn't sleep. Ever. Oh, he'd nap for 10 minutes at a time maybe 5 or 6 times a day, but he didn't actually sleep. And since I was going through a divorce, I didn't have anyone to take over so I could catch a nap. That meant less than an hour of sleep per day, and none of that was consecutive. I was totally fried and losing my mind.
Still, I held in there. For five months. On an hour of sleep. Picture that for a moment. I was past being a zombie, and I had a 2-year-old and an infant to care for. Everyone was cranky, everyone was tired, and I think we were all insane. No one was even liking each other at the time.
I had to do something. So I made a decision that wasn't entirely conscious and was mostly driven by exhausted instinct and put the baby down. I put him safely in his crib one night and walked away. I closed the door behind me and collapsed on the floor. I literally did not have the strength to stay on my feet for another minute. It was sit down or pass out.
In fact, I think I maybe passed out. The baby was out of my arms for the first time in five months. I had no reserves left and needed to just sit there, back against the door. So I sat.
And the baby cried. I don't actually know how long he cried. It was more than a minute, less than 30 minutes. I was only semi-conscious, so I'm not exactly sure. But I do know that the crying suddenly stopped. Just stopped. Like some sort of magic. He'd never been quiet when not in my arms.
So my first thought, quiet naturally, was, "He's dead!" Give me a break. I was insane at the time. So I went back in. But just in case he was alive and actually sleeping, or just trying to trick me, I had to be sneaky. Which meant I became Ninja Mommy. I was probably much less impressive in real life, but in my demented state I remember being very sneaky indeed. I remember slinking across the floor and peeking into the crib like a pro. I'm sure I was more like a slug who couldn't see straight. Whatever.
And there he was, sleeping like a champ. A champ I tell you! And not in my arms. For the first time ever. In my relief, I fell asleep right there on the floor. Ninja Mommy indeed.
Did I feel guilty? Honestly, I was too tired to feel guilt. I didn't cry when he cried because I was mostly unconscious. I didn't experience any of the emotions I've heard other moms talk about when they let their babies cry it out. And I wasn't deliberately letting him cry it out. I was just too tired to do anything else.
The next day I took my baby to the doctor because I needed him to tell me that what I had done was okay. He patted me on the back and asked me why I hadn't done it sooner. And, of course, reminded me he'd suggested it before. Twice. I'd just been too tired to listen.
Armed with the knowledge that I was not hurting my baby, I did it again. And again. By night five he was only protesting by waving his arms and snorting at me (he still snorts when he's annoyed and he's 7 now).
I was sleeping! Both kids were sleeping! We no longer hated each other! Mission accomplished (not that I'd really had a mission). I know there are people out there who would say I was being cruel. I don't care. It was either let him cry or drop kick him. Yes, I really was that tired. And I really needed to do something, and I was acting only on instinct.
So what's the moral of the story? That we, as parents, do what we have to do. We do what works for us. Because that's all any if us can ever do.
We have a bit of a lazy summer around here, so we go to the zoo or water parks or any other place whenever we feel like it. Since it's been hot lately, the water park has been our top choice for the past couple weeks. And in these couple weeks, I've noticed the water park is home to some interesting characters.
The Germaphobe
Why this person even comes to the water park is beyond me. She brings her kids, then proceeds to tell them to stay out of the water because of all the bacteria. And don't you know someone might have peed in that pool? Yes, dear, we all know that. We just don't care because our kids are melting from the heat.
The Clueless Mom
Her 3 kids are cutting in line, poking other kids in the eyes, and drinking the water with no regard for Germaphobe's little tantrum over there. And where is Clueless Mom? Well, she might be on her phone, or maybe reading a book. But she totally doesn't notice her little one pushing yours off the ladder.
The Fun-Loving Dad
This guy is just rocking the water park. He has more fun than anyone there. Everyone either loves him or hates him. Including his own kids, who were all ready to leave 4 hours ago.
The Self-Conscious Mom
We've all been there. Tummy is too round. Breasts are too saggy. Butt is...don't go there. This mom is covered from head to toe and she won't go in the water even if she's melting from the heat. Have some sympathy. If you haven't been there before, you will be there one day.
Perfect Mom
You either hate her or you are her. She's in a bikini, actually looks good, and has her kids and everything else in order. Though you secretly pray for her to suffer a massive wardrobe malfunction, you also want to be her. But don't admit it or you're out of the Not-So-Perfect Mom Club.
Grandparents
These people are playing with the kids they've brought and are even playing with kids they didn't. And they're enjoying it, probably because grandparents are the only people kids listen to on a regular basis. Makes us all wish we were grandparents so our kids would listen to us as well...
The Creepy Guy
Why is there always one single guy with no kids standing outside the girls' washroom? I don't know either, but he's the reason we don't send our daughters to the washroom alone.
The Bored Lifeguard
He's supposed to be making sure no one dies, but he's been melting in the heat for the last 7 hours. This guy is mostly asleep, so don't count on him to help your little ones out of a jam.
There are other characters at the water park. Sleeping teenagers. The kids who apparently have no supervision. The weird concession guy. Try people watching the next time you're there. You'll laugh, shake your head, and have a great time.
When you're redecorating, and when you decide to involve kids in the process, it can seem like it never ends. Never. We'd finally reached the point in our Great Bedroom Saga where we could actually go to the hardware store. The planning was done. The room was clean and vacuumed (and I deserve a reward for getting my 9-year-old to vacuum without bribing or yelling). So naturally, I was off to the hardware store. With 2 kids in tow. That's surely not a recipe for disaster.
First stop: The Paint Department. That's where the fun always begins. Because how can you do anything if you don't know what colors are going on the walls? I had already decided that we'd use that 2-in-1 paint. You know that one that is paint and primer in one? I've used it before, and it's the absolute best. But you have to go with a good brand, like Behr. Yes, it's a little more expensive, but remember you're not buying primer.
So I know exactly what I'm getting. Just have to pick the color. Easy, yes? Not so much actually. First I have to get the kids to pick from the right section. I yelled, "That's OUTSIDE paint!" and, "That paint will drive Mommy crazy!" a few more times than I intended. I seriously thought about hot gluing them to the floor in front of the paint chips I needed them to pick from. And they have hot glue in store. And staple guns. How handy...
No, I didn't go get the glue. Or the staple gun. Instead I trapped them there and told them to pick. This should have been easy since they'd already decided on silver. But there were 10 different silvers and 2 boys. Did they pick the same one? Of course not. That would have made my life easier. So now we have two colors that honestly looked exactly the same to me (did I mention that I have just a touch of color-blindness?). So how to pick? I made it easy and lied. We needed 2 cans, I told them we'd get one of each. Then I get the one with 'silver' in the name (it was French Silver, if you're interested) and called it done. Also needed a deep brown (for painting the beds and shelves and other stuff), but I'd picked one out while they were arguing and said that one was Mommy's choice.
Were we done? Of course not. Now we needed paintbrushes and rollers. Do you think kids can pick these things quickly? Nope. They spent 45 minutes trying every single paintbrush in the store before they found ones they liked. We'd now been in the hardware store for well over an hour, our paint was still mixing, and we weren't done yet. Off to electrical and lights, which were luckily right next to each other.
Just as luckily, we only needed a faceplate for the light switch and a tiny extension cord (for that dragon light they'd insisted I order) from electrical. The faceplate had to be white, and there were only four options, but it still took 15 minutes to pick. We were now approaching the 2-hour mark and our cart was still depressingly empty. Paintbrushes, a faceplate, and an extension cord. Sigh. Now for lighting.
Now, it's important to note that the light in the kids' room is on the wall. On the wall. Let me repeat, on the wall. The light we choose, therefore, had to be on the wall. The wall. I even pointed this out to the kids and directed them towards the display of lights that go ON THE WALL. What do they do? For the first time they agree on something, but it's a chandelier. I refuse to buy it because it WILL NOT FIT. Crying ensues. They want the chandelier. Sales man, against what I'm sure is his better judgment, comes over, looking a little scared.
But he had a solution! They had just received a wall sconce that was pretty much a wall version of that chandelier. It wasn't even on the floor yet, but they had one. He went to get it, kids are dancing, I could have kissed him. I didn't due to the wedding ring on his finger, but I could have. Now back to the paint department.
And the kids have changed their mind. Not silver. Gray. So I tell them it's actually gray, and I'm so smart I knew they wanted gray (it was still French Silver with a high gloss finish). For some reason (possible a miracle sent by the gods), the actually believe me.
Now for the checkout. I just spent $560 because that light was so expensive. It's a light! And the kids want to add chocolate bars. More than one. And a couple drinks. What kind of hardware store has chocolate bars and drink? But I'm so tired I don't even care. $579 dollars now.
In the car, heading home, and I'm so tired I don't even care. We're not painting today. Cry all you want kiddos, painting will have to wait until tomorrow. Mommy needs a nap.
