I try to keep my blog posts positive. They are more interesting that way, more therapeutic. They reinvigorate my spirit. But then there are those days. Days when we haven’t slept, and Moe can’t seem to control himself. When talking to him is worse than talking to a wall. When he climbs into his seat at the table, asking for food, but pushes everything away or screams and cries when you take too long. There are days when all I can think about is how many hours it is until bed time, and then, how awful that I feel that way about spending time with my own child.
Moe is challenging these days. His sleep problems have returned and seem to really be affecting his ability to control his emotions. He gets so frustrated that he bites down on his fingers. He can’t seem to communicate even what he’d previously mastered. Can’t (or won’t) ask for more. Can’t sign “I want.” I don’t know how to help him, so I grasp at the little knowledge that I have, giving him the sensory input I think he needs, swinging, wrapped in a blanket, brushing. Sometimes I think he’s bored so I try to engage him in an activity like coloring or reading or water play. I never seem to guess right, to find the one thing that he needs at that moment. I don’t think he knows either, even if he could tell me.
On these days, I am lost. I feel like I don’t know my own son, like I’m losing him more and more. He’s falling deep into the ocean and I’m holding the rope but I don’t have the strength to pull him back up. I need someone to tell me that soon he’ll resurface, that I’ll get my little boy back. But no one can tell me that. No one knows. It could be next week or next year. I can’t think much beyond that. I thought last year was going to be the hardest one, but now I know: We’re just at the beginning.