Being the mom of kids with autism often feels like one of those cartoons in which someone is walking along (often whistling) and unsuspectingly drops through a trap door into a pit of crocodiles. (What exactly did my parents let me watch anyway?) The trap door is any random hiccup in the child’s progress or therapy, and the pit of crocodiles is sadness, anxiety, and the feeling that things will never get better.
I fell through a trap door today. And the crocodiles are winning.
The morning started off pretty well, other than the fact that it came far too soon. But it all went sideways somewhere around breakfast. Getting out the door became an impossible task, and autism was winning. The details of what went wrong today aren’t important, because it could be anything that triggers the trap door. . . CONTINUE READING
