Just Be Regular

Disclaimer:  I have had a margarita and I will use profanity.

Do you see this guy?  Cute as a button, right?  Probably one of the most beautiful little boys I've ever seen.  

Well, today I looked him square in the eye and told him to stop being such an asshole.  Stop screaming, stop hitting, stop freaking out.  Just be regular for 60 seconds.  Don't fight me to get your shoes on or get in the car or take your shirt off or sit down at a restaurant.  Eat your food without being picky about the way it's presented and sit in your cute little blue car and be pushed to Starbuck's for as much chocolate milk as you want.  Stop running away from me and stop screaming at me for not turning on the TV.  And stop screaming at me for not turning the TV to the exact cartoon you want.  Just stop screaming.  And stop being such an asshole.

This sensory processing crap is really wearing on me.  In fact, I'm really pissed off about it all.  Mack is almost three and he is barely talking, doesn't like to play with many other kids, and is so far from being potty-trained that I just need to invest in Pampers.  He stays overwhelmed and overstimulated and unregulated, and I find myself walking on eggshells most of my day.  I beg the therapists for answers on how to prevent tantrums and how to end tantrums.  Some of it is normal 2-year-old assholeishness, and a lot of it is just Mack not being regulated.

I've looked at myself and tried to figure out what I've done.  I ate healthy during his pregnancy.  I didn't get too many ultrasounds.  I stayed very calm and rarely raised my voice while carrying him.  The delivery was uneventful.  I nursed him the first year.  I fed him healthy food.  He was a happy baby.  He was a good sleeper.  I thought I did everything right.  And, I honestly still think I did.

The truth is that this is Mack.  I can read all those dumb-ass "The 17 things parents should really be concerned about" and "Why moms in other countries don't have these problems" and yadayadayada, but Mack is the way he is.  I can no longer beat myself up.  He is wired a certain way, and I need to come to terms with that and guide him the best way that I can.  I've researched his diet and immunizations and family history, and the facts are there that he has been this way since the day he was born.

But I have this almost five-year-old daughter who developed completely normally -- even early in many ways -- and I HATE to see a video of her at his age.  She was playing with others and singing entire songs and reciting her alphabet and pee peeing in the potty like a champ.  Any tiny little thing that upset me about her not being able to identify all her numbers or count past 20 just seems so freaking silly now.  I would love for Mack to count past three and to actually include the number one when he does it.  I would love if he even pretended he wanted to play with another child.  And if he even hummed along to a familiar tune I swear I would take him to the place I LOATHE name Disney World.

If you're wondering whether I'm jealous or not of your almost three-year-old who is smart, then you're damn straight that I am.  I've tried to talk myself out of not comparing many, many times, but I can't help it.  When I hear your child having a convo with you, I'm jealous.  When you tell me about your simple difficulties with potty-training, I'm jealous.  I am happy for you, but I want to be in that normal place too.  I want to have regular toddler tantrums.  I don't want to have sensory processing disorder tantrums.

There is this one mom who I've chatted with some in one of Mack's classes.  When Mimi was his age and was taking little classes, I was able to chat with lots of moms because she was too busy doing her own thing.  Now I must stay on top of him all the time to make sure that he isn't freaking out, and I also want to avoid the other looks from some moms and nannies who don't quite get him.  Like the one who stared deep into my eyes and sternly spit out, "He's gonna hurt someone."  No shit, lady.  That's why I spend every second on top of him.  Thanks for pointing out how difficult it is for me to take him in public.

But I digress.  So anyway, there's this one mom I chatted with some in a class.  Her daughter was cute and smart and talking a crazy amount, but she always seemed willing to let her daughter play around Mack in class.  We talked about our older daughters and their independence, and I even let her know about Mack's diagnosis a few months ago.  I have no idea what her name is, and I have no idea why I felt comfortable talking with her about this.  But I did, and she always listened without judgement.  I enjoyed her conversation and her cute little daughter, but secretly I was so jealous of how easy her life seemed to be with her daughters.

I ran into her tonight while at dinner.  We said hi and I asked Mack if he remembered the little girl, and he just closed his eyes and stuck his head in the sand like always.  We did a quick catch-up and then sat down to eat.  I noticed two six-year-old girls at the end of the mom's table being silly, and of course Mimi was immediately attracted to their singing and dancing.  I told her it was okay for her to talk with them until her food arrived, and as soon as she walked over to them, she and I noticed something different at exactly the same time . . .

"Hey, I'm Mimi.  Can I play with you until my food comes?  Oh, wait . . . you don't have any hair . . . "

No hair.  No eyebrows either.  Holy shit.  Who's the asshole now . . .

The sweet little girl just looked at her friend, and they shrugged their shoulders and then moved on to a song.  I know I've said it before . . . at least he doesn't have cancer . . . but I wanted to vomit at that very moment.  And I think I have it rough . . .

He beautiful and exactly the way he's supposed to be.  The truth is I'm not really so mad at him.  I'm mad at myself.  I should be able to handle this.  To guide him.  To make mistakes and learn and grow and give him the resources to become amazing.  But I'm in a rut right now and I'm being a brat.  He fights me all the time, and my back is breaking and so is my heart.  I want him to experience life to the fullest, and I'm afraid I can't give him that right now.

"This too shall pass."  Have I said before that I hate to hear that?  It may pass but not anytime soon.  Clint and I have a long road ahead with this little guy, so it doesn't help to hear that it will pass.  We know that it eventually will, but there's a lot of work to be done in the meantime.

 Mack is this way for a reason -- I'm a believer in that sort of thing.  God gave him to Clint and me because . . . I don't know . . . maybe because I'm patient?  Because Clint loves to play rough-house?  Because Mimi knows how to make everyone laugh?  I'm not sure I'll ever know, but we have the responsibility of making life awesome for him.  Time for me to put my big girl britches on, I suppose.

I do know that Mack has done something to Mimi.  She loves to push his buttons because she's a regular big sister, but I've noticed some new things come out of her in the past year because of Mack.  Patience.  Empathy.  Understanding.  She wants to make him laugh.  She is upset when he's not happy.  She wants him to want to play with her, and she knows exactly how to do it.  She is more loving with him than I am at times.  She will stop her fabulous world when he arrives . . .

For example at her last karate class . . .

Mack escaped from my grasp . . .

Mimi thought she could help . . .

So she just tackled him.  In front of everybody and their mommas and cameras.  She wasn't embarrassed or angry.  She just wanted him to feel like a part of it all.

This little girl is something else.  I'm so proud of who she is becoming I can't stand it. 

And this guy.  He's happiest when he's near the water.  

Which is one reason why I'm excited we're moving to the North Shore.  Oh, that's right.  I haven't told you that we're moving yet.  Just a few miles north of the city so not a HUGE move, but I guess it's still pretty significant.  New schools, new neighborhood, and a completely different feel.  I just went to a 4th of July parade with my ONE, count it, ONE friend in the area, and I felt like I was in a different world.  In a strange way it felt like a Midwestern version but Oxford, Mississippi.  So completely different from the big city, so it will take some getting used to.  More to come about that later.

 These pics are from the lake in Michigan.  Unbelievable how gorgeous the lake is.  Forget Florida for now.  I have no problem driving an hour and half to see this.

Our little beach cottage was down a road that looked this.  Amazing, right?

And on to playing catch-up.  Mimi is no longer a preschooler.  I can't even type that without crying.  She will start kindergarten in the fall, and I am just so stinking happy with her preschool experience this year.  I regret the silly post from last fall I had about not being sure about our neighborhood public school.  It was absolutely the best year she could have had as a four-year-old.  This is her with her sweet, sweet, sweet teacher, Miss Jami.  Hands-down the most fabulous PreK teacher for Mimi.  Patient and fun and just plain amazing.  And her classmates were also soooo adorable.
 

Official last day of PreK photo in the rain.  I'm so glad it was raining because that way I didn't have to say any real goodbyes.  And no one could see all of my tears.

On to the first day of summer camp!!  At least we get one last summer in this awesome city before we're rocking the suburbs.

Spending our days at the neighborhood park.

And at the other neighborhood park steps from our building.  We really did choose an awesome building.

 Sorry to the little buddy for losing my patience today.  As one of my therapists told me, "He is so good-looking for a reason.  There's no way to stay mad at this face for too long."

She doesn't know how right she is . . .