Friday, April 26, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Monday, August 6, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
As the days have passed I feel that one of the hardest parts of our situation is me. myself. my troubled brain. my frustration. my worry.
Oliver plays, well...like Oliver plays. It's this Momma that sees the burden.
My two latest concerns (and no, I will not be getting into the HOURS, literally, spent on the phone with insurance, doctors, etc) are his new form of play and his teeth. Yep, I said teeth. Between D and I we say "stop grinding" about 995849085 billion times a day.
Yesterday, while D ran errands I relented and let O bring the block basket downstairs. Once we put together the wooden train tracks, he spent about 30 minutes organizing all the blocks into individual piles of the same shape blocks, when that was done he went through his toy box, removed all the plastic tools and placed them on the workbench, next he headed upstairs. About 10 minutes later I headed up to make sure he hadn't climbed into the washer or decided to fly out a window.
This is what I found...
One task to complete. Very literal.
On to the funny moment of my morning...
The Monster insisted on watching "Rick Steves Europe" on "da create tb" this morning. Sometimes I am allowed to sit with him but other times I am told to "get outta here" or "go do da cookin". So, as I mourned the fact that I am only allowed to listen about the wines of Tuscany Italy I warmed up a pumpernickle rye bagel and set out to do a little online reading about the ladybugs in my garden. It was somewhere in between bite four and five that I happened to tear off a warm piece of bagel, glance down, and see a very creepy looking bug on the edge of my thumb. After some violent hand shaking and girly screaming I realized that it was just a rye seed.
sorry to Mr. and Mrs. Across the Street and Crazy Next Door Neighbors far making you think I was being violently murdered...by a delicious rye seed.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
I've told our story to, what feels like, 4 million people...doctors, nurses, therapists, nutrionists, family, nurses, co-workers, bosses, friends, babysitters, insurance companies, human resource representatives, insurance agents, and one time to some random women in the grocery store line that may have involved tears and another teary moment in an elevator to another parent (thank you random person for telling me that I am validated in my freaking out moment.
Oliver has and always will be, just O., or the Monster, or my baby, or Oliver. I've spent the last 2 1/2 years explaining away his behavior. "He's just quirky", I'd say. "He's just smarter than other kiddos", "That just his personality", "He has a big imagination".... but then came our breaking point... and a wake-up call from my husband....
O isn't "just quirky"...
Following a moment of complete breakdown in the cracker aisle at a grocery store on our monthly, family grocery trip D looked at me, hand on my elbow, as both O and I are sobbing and said "We need to see a doctor. This is not normal and not healthy". I agreed.
"He's not just quirky".
We made an appointment with our pediatrician and our life has never been the same since. We hadn't been in the office for 5 minutes before our Doc suggested Aspergers and sent us to a Neurologist immediately. I appreciate the support from our Docs but within 2 weeks we went from a normal child to 3 therapists, a ped, a neuro, and a marriage that consists of discussing how to handle our child. I've been married to D for 7 months and been with him for 3 1/2 years and in the past 12 months we have done nothing besides handle our child. I watch O sometimes and want to scream at Doc when I can finally talk to a live person and not a v/m or an appt. 3-4 months away. I want to scream, what can I do NOW. Right now.". I've ordered book on Sensory Perceptive Disorder and Aspergers. I've been calm. I've tried discipline. I've tried physically restraining him (holding him in my arms). I've tried singing (I'll Stand By You). I've tried talking to him about blue (his favorite color), I've tried organizing his toys with him, and being a "hero".
This Mom is tired, and frustrated, and feeling guilty for not being the perfect Mommy. I lose my temper, I lash out at my husband when I can't hear myself think, my job and co-workers have more than been exposed to tears and and distraction. I've asked about a million doctors/nurses/ therapists for help and the reply I got yesterday was "you've made him a Momma's boy with weak emotions and you should be harder on him".
I've wanted a sibling for O. for a long time but I am beginning to see that there is a reason that hasn't happened and never will. My role is to fight against the world for O. It is hard to explain to someone how much time is spent making his voice known and heard and his rights uphold.
WITHOUT DUMPING HIM FULL OF MEDS!
Other Moms have said that the first year is the hardest but all I can think is that I am not the Mommy to do this. I am failing. I am lost. I love my Monster but I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. I am juggling and I am scared that all the balls will fall from my grasp at any second.
Friday, April 20, 2012
"Hi Honey. It's Momma. I've been in touch with the guys. I heard you've made it through with flying colors and have a beautiful son. I am so proud of you. I am just so happy and relieved that you had such and easy and great time. I know it hurt like hell but that is the name of the game. You are probably sleeping, or all of you are sleeping, as you should. I am on break from class but wanted you to know how much I love you and how proud of you I am. I can't wait to see pictures and get down to you. Waiting till Friday will be hard. Know that I love you very much sweetheart. Congrats! You're a Mom!"
That was the voicemail message from my Mother, and now named "Gaga" that is still saved on my cell phone. That is the message that I listen to when my precious Monster retreats from the world in fear of whatever noise, color, object, or emotion that sends him spinning out of control. I listen to that message and remember all the hopes and dreams and, insane plans I had about being a Mom. Those dreams didn't involve sobbing in the Walmart check-out line because your child is freaking out, it didn't involve neurologists, or endlessly talking about three blue cars but those dreams did and still do include big silly smiles, late night couch cuddles, and the occasional "mommy I lub you".
Thursday, February 9, 2012
This is my dashboard and my view for most of the day.
I do love my car and even at 150k I think she loves me back.
On my dash is a sticker that my Uncle mailed me.
I'm waving at you.