This boy.
This boy of mine is my heart...has my heart....
I'm anxious. Worried. A little mmmmm not really scared; more like concerned. Concerned with a huge massive oversized helping of guilt.
Guilt because I should have done something about this by now. Guilt because I've let it go for far too long. Guilt over what help we could have been receiving all this time.
Guilt guilt guilt.
I was going to do something about it a year ago. And I did, actually. I made the call, I filled out the volume upon volume of intake paperwork. And I waited. And waited. Christmas came and went. And I waited. Long story short, they lost our paperwork and had no record of us wanting an evaluation but would be glad to resend us the paperwork and start over.
Sigh
To be perfectly honest, things were so drastically better after Christmas last year that I was trying hard to remember why I so desperately wanted the evaluation in the first place. Things were calm, things were...dare I say...normal?! So I went with that.
And here we are, a year later, and I'm in the same damn place I started in. The quirks may have changed but they're still there.
And what's really hard now is that this boy...my boy...is a whole year older. And he's at an age where people start to have certain expectations about his behavior and social skills. And over and over he doesn't meet those expectations. I see him through their eyes and the guilt slams me hard. "Why have you waited so long?" screams through my brain as I watch him make the most bizarre facial expressions at the woman who just asked him, "How are you?". As he tells everyone he comes in contact with, "I'm five years old" but then makes sounds like a monkey when they make any sort of reply. Oh the guilt.
Then I found #youmightbeanautismparentif on twitter and holy hell. Tears, people. Tears and belly laughs alternating so fast it's like I'm on bad drugs. All the tweets....all things we have lived with for the last five years. Things I thought were just Aiden being Aiden. Things I explained away as quirks. But it turns out other kids are doing these things too. And these other kids are on the spectrum. The Spectrum. Just like I've suspected Aiden is for far far too long.
I need to make that call. Again. I mean it this time.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Making The Call. Again.
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2 espresso shots:
Many, many thoughts and prayers for you.
Reaching "the age" sucks. My oldest is there. And she's kind of quirky (in a different way than A, but some of the same). People react strongly when I say she's homeschooled. As if her failure to be completely socially "normal" is bad. And that it's my fault.
Those expectations burn.
You are NOT a bad mother. You are NOT neglectful or the like. You were simply biding your time to see if things got better because the alternative is massively overwhelming.
You are his mama bear. No one can doubt that.
Well Tiffany, I must let you know that I have no children of my own. I have, however, worked with young children in a college's Child Development Center and as an assistant in a licensed family childcare.
That said, here's what I think: You're doing a GREAT job as Aiden's mom, absolutely fantastic. You're loving him with every fiber of your being, paying attention, and saying Right Out Loud something that scares the bejesus out of you.
Maybe this past year has been about you dealing with this internally, spiritually. I believe that's as important to this process as any other aspect, so hooray for you, Tiffany!!! You have all my support, admiration, respect and prayers.
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