I am struggling. Like really, really, really struggling. We have been going to the behaviorist with my son for about 6 weeks now and I have hit a wall.

We have bought books, we are trying new behavioral interventions, and we are working hard to understand.

The problem is, I really don’t understand. I want to, but I don’t.

Autism is like a maze. One of those crazy, scary-ass corn mazes out in Iowa where every turn brings some new unwanted adventure. 

I don’t understand why he has such a hard time listening. I don’t understand why he gets so mad so quickly. I don’t understand why he has to hit and punch, and pull hair. I don’t understand why he can’t sit still. I don’t understand why he won’t sleep.

I want to understand, but right now I just don’t. I feel like because I don’t understand, it makes me a bad mom. A mom who cares less. A mom who can’t give him what he needs. I want to give him what he needs, but sometimes I can’t. 

This frustration I have is MINE and I understand that, but I am not sure what to do with it. When I am working with him to “establish the desired outcome,” I want to just say, “Why the hell can’t you just do what I asked you to do?” I don’t want to have to be super patient and calm. I know I have to, but it is very difficult to do. 

This morning, the tipping point was the blue plate. 

Mom: Do you want waffles?

Son: Yes, can I have syrup?

Mom: Sure. Please sit at the table.

Son: (Walks into kitchen) I want them on a blue plate.

Mom: I already put them on a paper plate so I don’t have to clean it. 

Son: I want a blue plate.

Mom: Today we will eat waffles on this plate.

Son: (Throws body to the ground and begins to scream) I said I want a blue plate!

Mom: Do you want waffles?

Son: YES!

Mom: Here are your waffles, please take them to the table.

Son: NO! I want them on a blue plate. Put them on a blue plate. Why aren’t you putting them on a blue plate!

Mom: (I cannot do this anymore. I need to get everyone else breakfast. This has now eaten up 10 minutes of my time. Puts waffles on blue plate.) Here, go to the table.

Son: (Picks up waffles and syrup gets on hands) I can’t eat these now; my hands are sticky.

This lead to a fit that lasted over an hour. He went to his ‘Safe Spot’ which is my closet, and cried and threw shoes. He came out screaming four to five times. We did the routine about six times before he came out calm. 

It’s not even noon and I’m exhausted. I just wish he could understand that the blue plate can be any plate. He doesn’t need the blue plate to be happy. But I guess in his case he does.

So, today I cried over the blue plate. Autism sucks. I don’t want to travel the maze today.

 

Meredith is a work from home mother of three. You can follow her on her blog at Thats Inappropriate and on Facebook and Twitter 

Author

Wannabe's are Guest Authors to BLUNTmoms. They might be one-hit wonders, or share a variety of posts with us. They "may" share their names with you, or they might write as "anonymous" but either way, they are sharing their stories and their opinions on our site, and for that we are grateful.

Write A Comment

Pin It