Thursday – Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign
Sep. 9th, 2010 10:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind
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There were lots of little signs that my son might process the world a little differently, but they did me no good because I didn’t know what I was looking at.
You know those messy baby pictures everyone has of their child, where the wide-eyed baby sits covered in food from head to foot? I don’t really have any of those. When my son’s hands had food on them, he held them out to be wiped clean and would cry if I didn’t hurry up and fix it. The sensation of having food or anything else on his hands drove him nuts.
The little handprint pictures his school sent home were often smeared, because he was so distressed when they put his hand in paint that instead of letting them make a clean imprint, he would try to wipe the paint off of his hand onto the paper they pressed it against.
“Sorry,” the staff would say ruefully, “We tried. He doesn’t like anything on his hands, does he?”
On “splash” day at his daycare, they would send home pictures of happy babies sitting in the wade pool to other parents. I got pictures of a red-face, crying baby. He didn’t like being put in the water. He would not like being in water until he was no longer a toddler. It freaked him out. This included bath time, for awhile. We finally got him used to the idea of baths. We got him used to the idea of playing in the water, too; he was just a lot older than most other kids when he came around to liking it. But he has always loved looking at water. He loves watching fountains and is mesmerized by the sight of water cascading down.
Since he was a toddler, he would only eat from a short list of foods. We go through a lot of macaroni and cheese in my house. Getting him to try something new would involve forcing his jaws open, and I just don't have the energy. People regard as wimpy for giving in to this. "My kids eat what I give them," they tell me, "It's not like they'll let themselves starve." My kid is not their kid.
Then there was his reaction to sounds. The first time he heard the loud flush of a toilet in a public restroom, he put his hands over his ears and screamed. We soon taught him that it was okay to put his hands over his ears, but not to scream. He didn’t like the noises certain toys made and would cry when he heard them (others he liked a little too much, and would play over and over until I was ready to toss the toy in the trash). He loved music, but not all music. From the time he was an infant, he hated soft, relaxing music, but he loved anything with an electric guitar.
“I only like boy bands, not girl bands,” he told me as a way of explaining that he preferred male vocalists. I took it as a sign of some sort of inherent sexism. Now it occurs to me that he doesn’t like high-pitched sounds at all, which is why he doesn’t like female vocalist or quiet music. The deep rumbling sounds of rock and roll sooth him; the soft, soothing sounds of a flute or a lullaby agitate him. I found this amusing.
At the age of 3, he stopped going to sleep at a normal hour. The experts said to put him in room and let him cry it out, and that after 20 minutes or so he would fall right to sleep. He cried for 3 hours straight. I could only deal with this for a couple of nights in a row before I gave in and let him stay up.
At the age of 4, the tantrums started. Not typical tantrums, but violent tantrums (kicking, screaming, biting, hitting) that last from an hour and a half to two hours, or however long it took for him to become exhausted. They threw him out of the daycare. Once he was no longer in a group environment, the tantrums stopped.
I also noticed along the way that he didn’t seem to have the normal social instincts that other children have. The ability to interact with other children was not innate in him. Sometimes he could play well, but only in a very small group. If there were too many kids, he withdrew. If the other kids didn’t act the way he thought they should, he got angry. I figured once he started school and was exposed to more children, he would figure it all out. He is now in school; he is not figuring it out at all. The tantrums are back. Sensory overload, they call it. The filters most of us have to intergrate all the things that our senses throw at us are not working right. He overheats and melts down like the nueclear reactor at Chernobyl.
No single one of these things (besides the tantrums) was really a red flag by itself. It’s like one of those mosaics made up of a lot of little pictures that form one big picture. Each little picture was just that: a little picture of a thing where my child was a little different from other children. Each child is unique, right? They all have their little quirks. But then I look at all the pictures together, forming a bigger picture that I have to stand a distance from to really see.
My eyes are taking it in, but I’m still not sure what I’m seeing besides this: my beautiful, smart, creative, amazing son is different than other children, and not in a small way.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
.
There were lots of little signs that my son might process the world a little differently, but they did me no good because I didn’t know what I was looking at.
You know those messy baby pictures everyone has of their child, where the wide-eyed baby sits covered in food from head to foot? I don’t really have any of those. When my son’s hands had food on them, he held them out to be wiped clean and would cry if I didn’t hurry up and fix it. The sensation of having food or anything else on his hands drove him nuts.
The little handprint pictures his school sent home were often smeared, because he was so distressed when they put his hand in paint that instead of letting them make a clean imprint, he would try to wipe the paint off of his hand onto the paper they pressed it against.
“Sorry,” the staff would say ruefully, “We tried. He doesn’t like anything on his hands, does he?”
On “splash” day at his daycare, they would send home pictures of happy babies sitting in the wade pool to other parents. I got pictures of a red-face, crying baby. He didn’t like being put in the water. He would not like being in water until he was no longer a toddler. It freaked him out. This included bath time, for awhile. We finally got him used to the idea of baths. We got him used to the idea of playing in the water, too; he was just a lot older than most other kids when he came around to liking it. But he has always loved looking at water. He loves watching fountains and is mesmerized by the sight of water cascading down.
Since he was a toddler, he would only eat from a short list of foods. We go through a lot of macaroni and cheese in my house. Getting him to try something new would involve forcing his jaws open, and I just don't have the energy. People regard as wimpy for giving in to this. "My kids eat what I give them," they tell me, "It's not like they'll let themselves starve." My kid is not their kid.
Then there was his reaction to sounds. The first time he heard the loud flush of a toilet in a public restroom, he put his hands over his ears and screamed. We soon taught him that it was okay to put his hands over his ears, but not to scream. He didn’t like the noises certain toys made and would cry when he heard them (others he liked a little too much, and would play over and over until I was ready to toss the toy in the trash). He loved music, but not all music. From the time he was an infant, he hated soft, relaxing music, but he loved anything with an electric guitar.
“I only like boy bands, not girl bands,” he told me as a way of explaining that he preferred male vocalists. I took it as a sign of some sort of inherent sexism. Now it occurs to me that he doesn’t like high-pitched sounds at all, which is why he doesn’t like female vocalist or quiet music. The deep rumbling sounds of rock and roll sooth him; the soft, soothing sounds of a flute or a lullaby agitate him. I found this amusing.
At the age of 3, he stopped going to sleep at a normal hour. The experts said to put him in room and let him cry it out, and that after 20 minutes or so he would fall right to sleep. He cried for 3 hours straight. I could only deal with this for a couple of nights in a row before I gave in and let him stay up.
At the age of 4, the tantrums started. Not typical tantrums, but violent tantrums (kicking, screaming, biting, hitting) that last from an hour and a half to two hours, or however long it took for him to become exhausted. They threw him out of the daycare. Once he was no longer in a group environment, the tantrums stopped.
I also noticed along the way that he didn’t seem to have the normal social instincts that other children have. The ability to interact with other children was not innate in him. Sometimes he could play well, but only in a very small group. If there were too many kids, he withdrew. If the other kids didn’t act the way he thought they should, he got angry. I figured once he started school and was exposed to more children, he would figure it all out. He is now in school; he is not figuring it out at all. The tantrums are back. Sensory overload, they call it. The filters most of us have to intergrate all the things that our senses throw at us are not working right. He overheats and melts down like the nueclear reactor at Chernobyl.
No single one of these things (besides the tantrums) was really a red flag by itself. It’s like one of those mosaics made up of a lot of little pictures that form one big picture. Each little picture was just that: a little picture of a thing where my child was a little different from other children. Each child is unique, right? They all have their little quirks. But then I look at all the pictures together, forming a bigger picture that I have to stand a distance from to really see.
My eyes are taking it in, but I’m still not sure what I’m seeing besides this: my beautiful, smart, creative, amazing son is different than other children, and not in a small way.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 04:06 pm (UTC)I wish I had realized earlier. My son was in 2nd grade before I put it all together. He could have had "interventions" very young in our school district and all the literature I read says, "EARLY intervention is important in changing these behaviors."
But we are moms. We love all we can. We are trained to look for the best in our kids.
We just have to start where we are and do what we can. I know that feeling though. I can't have those years back when things might have changed easier. I regret that so bad.
My son is widely creative and smart. He HATES to sleep too. The best thing in the world was when he learned to read chapter books and learned how to change out his CDs of audio books all by himself. That way, I can finally go to bed before midnight and he has something to do with a flashlight. I don't know how he makes it on so little sleep..and yes, I tried scream it out, warm milk before bed, etc etc
::hugs:: I'm praying for you all. I wish I had more ideas or something.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 04:34 pm (UTC)I don't expect anyone to offer any magic advice that will make this all better. I'm on this journey that I didn't plan on going on, and writing this travelogue somehow makes me feel better. I can't explain why, but it does.
{{{hugs}}}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 05:51 pm (UTC)Like I believed by not mentioning it, it would heal itself.
I don't know. Part of it was all the years and all the people who just said, "You've spoiled him. You don't try hard enough with him. You don't require a lot" etc
But yes, I think it helps to share and write about it.
Honestly...sometimes that's how I know what is bothering the most. If I WON'T write about it...there's a problem. A Big problem, if I am not even willing to face myself on the page.
That's part of where it all went wrong when I had postpartum depression.
Thanks for sharing your travelogue with us.
I hope I can take more of your attitude. I look ahead too much with my family and it worries me. Borrowing problems from the future.
::hugs::
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 07:18 pm (UTC)I've been coming up with theories and guessing for over 2 years now. I've been wrong more times than I can count. I may still be wrong. I will be wrong in the future. It's all part of the learning process.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 04:59 pm (UTC)You should really consider forwarding this text, or a version of it, to the school psychologist he's going to see. A little context might help a professional get a better idea of what they're seeing.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 09:15 pm (UTC)I can do delusional with the best of them, but not when I can hear reality screaming over the phone when the principal calls me. My reality has some pipes on it! :P
no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 10:46 pm (UTC)I have cried myself to sleep.
It ain't pretty and I will wake up with a hangover feeling the next day, even though there was no alcohol involved.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 01:46 pm (UTC)