The Fog is Lifting

We've had a rough stretch. The lack of sleep, combined with Moe's increase in aggression and what behaviorists call "non-compliance" (aka brattiness) has been exhausting. We've been on lock-down, my chest tightening whenever I had to take Moe anywhere. Our outings became limited to speech therapy, gymnastics class (recreation therapy), and the occasional quick, only-the-necessities, visit to the grocery store.

This is crisis mode. We hadn't gone out to eat as a family in a couple of months, something we used to enjoy doing most weekends. Moe tried to calm himself with sensory behaviors, like spitting and intense screaming. Even playing in the backyard seemed overwhelming for him.

Earlier this week, the fog started to lift. He slept through three of the last four nights. This weekend was pleasant, in part because I had book club on Friday night and went to the city to see Wicked on Saturday. But it wasn't just that I got to step away from the madness. Moe seemed almost back to himself. He was gentler and happier. He ate better and didn't fight me every time he needed to get dressed or put on a new pull-up.

Amazing clouds on the way to the city

The shift was subtle. Moe still screamed a little. He pulled my hair once - hard. But it wasn't constant. He spent time snuggled on the couch flipping through a magazine. He even let Jelly share the blanket as they laid toe to toe on the couch watching Team Umizoomi.

Right now, he's giggling with his therapist and asking for more back rubs and tickles. He's listening and behaving better.

I have no idea why. These cycles come and go, and I spend a month or so wondering what changed and just when I have my theories lined up, they change again. And every time, once I begin to see clearly again, I'm reminded that this is the cyclical nature of Moe's development.

Maybe this is how all development works. With Moe, it feels more extreme, though it probably isn't. It seems that way because his protests come in the form of screams and scratches instead of whining and shouts of "you're the meanest mommy ever!" Behavior is communication, and yet, in the thick of it, it is hard to hear what is being said.

His smile returns

A Life of Choice

"She hadn't made her life happen; it had happened to her."

-Kate, The Expats

So much of life is about the choices we make. One decision leads to another and another, figurative (or sometimes literal) forks in the road.

I've never lived abroad. There are relationships I should have ended sooner, and others I should have fought harder for. I might have chosen to live in New York City after graduate school, rather than come back to California. I've never lived in the heart of a big city, though I've always wanted to. 

I've had interesting jobs, married a good man, had children. I left my career to raise my kids.

There are smaller decisions too: bought this car instead of that, ordered the chicken instead of the fish. Some decisions are more important than others, of course. I've made some good choices and some bad ones. Some I wish I could do over and others I wouldn't change. But for the most part, these choices were mine to make freely.

I sat down to write this, thinking it was going to be a post about what happens when the choice is no longer yours. Because although I chose to be a mother, I didn't choose to be the mother a special needs child. I didn't choose to have a child with autism. And while I can tell myself that I can choose how I deal with the situation, sometimes I feel like my emotions are not truly under my control. While I aim to stay positive and hopeful, sometimes I am overwhelmed with despair, fear, and most of all, frustration.

But it struck me that the hardest part about parenting Moe is not the lack of choice. It is quite the opposite. Jeff and I have so many choices to make. What therapies do we try? Do we send Moe to school? If so, do we fight for a private placement? Do we try medications? What AAC device are we going to choose? Who do we trust to guide us through  all of this? Most of the time we are on our own and flying blind.

Of course we have to make many decisions for Jelly, but the right ones always seem to be a bit clearer. And the smaller ones seem to matter less. I don't mean to sound flippant about parenting her, but I am more confident in my instincts there - or at least that we will figure out pretty quickly if we've made the wrong ones.

I am thankful we live in a time when we have options for Moe. But sometimes the decisions become overwhelming. There I days I really wish my most difficult decision was "grande or venti?"  

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This post was inspired by mystery thriller novel The Expats, by Chris Pavone. Kate Moore sheds her old live to become a stay at home mom when her husband takes a job in Europe. As she attempts to reinvent herself, she ends up chasing her evasive husband's secrets. Join From Left to Write on January 22 as we discuss The Expats. As a member, I received a review copy of the book.