True Confessions of a Special Needs Mom at 3 A.M.
I have some stuff I often think about at 3 a.m., when I should be sleeping, but hey, why do that? He’s just going to be up in an hour or so anyway. Let me sit and stew. It’s strange how at that time of night you are most honest with yourself and your own thoughts. Here are the latest ones bopping around my brain. Or the ones I can remember before I drifted off, only to be woken up again by the Kiddo 10 minutes later.
Confession #1: I don’t care what causes autism.
I don’t. I really want folks to stop asking my opinion on this. My kiddo is my kiddo. How I am suppose to accept him for who he is while thinking at the same time, If only I had done this… Even if you showed me hardcore scientific evidence that this “something” caused it, I don’t care. What am I suppose to do? Hop in a DeLorean and go 88 miles an hour to my past and stop the autism from happening? It is what it is, so I’m happy to move on. I wish others around me would too.
Confession #2: No, I won’t be having anymore kids (so stop asking about it).
The kiddo is turning 9 next week. We finally have a streak of no potty accidents. You think I want to go back to diapers? That’s just my flip token answer but in all seriousness, stop asking me this.
From the moment you deliver your baby, some smart-a** has to ask you while you are still in the hospital, “So when’s the next one?” Be lucky I was medicated, buddy. I wanted to slap you. A parent knows when they are done. It’s not like I just forgot to have more kids. Whoops! Slipped my mind! I rocked a pretty good case of postpartum depression. Just when I was finally pulling myself out of that, autism popped up. I knew where I had to focus. It’s a choice that worked for me. You remembered to have extra kids? Good for you. You must of jotted down a reminder on a Post-It. So ya think maybe by the time I hit 50, folks might stop asking?
Confession #3: I really wrestle with that whole “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” cliche.
God shouldn’t have trusted me so much. I couldn’t even remember to have more kids. How am I to be trusted with a child with special needs? I have no patience and cuss like a sailor on shore leave. Sarcasm is my answer to everything and yet I’m handed a kid who I am told won’t understand it. (I call BS on that one. He totally does. Autism Myth-Buster right there.)
I stick up for other autism parents when they are being judged and then I am judged for it too. God, we autism parents are getting the shaft sometimes. Help a girl out and let me win a PowerBall lottery or something. I don’t want pity. I want a nap.
Confession #4: Some of the things my kiddo has managed to do have been awesome surprises.
We still have work, but he’s done more than I ever thought he could. I love it when he proves me wrong. I love it when he proves the jacka** early intervention therapists wrong who worked with him and gave me ZERO hope that he’d do anything. I often want to call them up and say “Can’t communicate?” and put him on the phone when he’s singing, then get back on and say, “How ya like dem apples?” Perhaps they said that to light a fire under my ass but honestly, I don’t think that’s the case.
So there you have it. The inner workings of my brain at an ungodly hour. Bet you expected more fries.
A longer version of this post originally appeared on Autism With a Side of Fries.
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