I Think He Can

On Monday, when I was dropping Love Bug off at daycare, his early intervention therapist was there waiting for him to arrive. She asked to quickly confer with me because the group he has been attending asked to shift him to the morning class to do more assessments with him. “Because he really struggles,” she stated emphatically, “and we really want to get a better idea of his limitations and what services he needs to help him.” I felt like she was trying to convince me, continuing to push her diagnosis as if I am resisting anything she has offered or suggested. Initially, I didn’t believe her suggestion that Love Bug was on the spectrum. But, I have not fought the process, I have not bucked the system trying to officially diagnosis him. I have agreed to what has been suggested and I was agreeing to submit to more “testing” by switching the class. After she spoke to me and I hurried on to work, I thought about how badly I wanted to prove her wrong. Love Bug CAN DO IT! I wanted to scream. He does have difficulties and he does need some accommodations but he is not incapable of doing the things we ask him to do.

 

Sadly, I felt the bitterness of defeat at baseball practice Tuesday night. It was the first outdoor practice at a park. I was feeling frustrated because the team parents and coach want to hold practice early, around 5 or 5:30, making it so hard for us to get there on time. We would not be able to have dinner, since we only get home around 5. I don’t know if it was the tension I was emitting due to the early start time or simply because there were two playgrounds there that Love Bug would rather scramble around on than toss a ball. He hasn’t really been participating in practice, but if he stands with his team, I’m satisfied. Tuesday, he just wasn’t having it. He was stuck on knowing when the practice would end, demanding to see my phone even though he has no concept of time. The end result was us leaving early because he was kicking me, hitting me, throwing sticks at me and starting to act like he would throw sticks at the other parents. He was also screaming. Tears stung my eyes as I felt like raising the white surrender flag. He can’t do it.

 

When I was talking to the mobile therapist last night he said he wasn’t wholly convinced Love Bug presented with ASD behaviors. He saw Oppositional Defiance, maybe ADHD, but he mentioned how Love Bug could manage in situations with a lot of structure. I don’t know if he has made any final conclusions and Love Bug’s evaluation with the therapist isn’t scheduled for a few months, but this confusion is maddening to me. I just want a straight answer. But, with mental health, so many things are more complicated than a simple diagnosis. One positive thought that occurred to me while I was talking to the mobile therapist was to set a timer for Love Bug during practice. It helps him sometimes, to not obsess about the time if he knows an alarm will go off releasing him from his task. So, I will try this next practice. I won’t give up. Love Bug can do it.

Side Hustle

If order to help pay for the new van we got last month, I have become an Uber driver. I took my first run last Friday, thinking it would be a busy night to pick up party-goers and whatnot. It turns out I took the same number of riders in less time Sunday night. I was out again last night and got my first long haul, driving an hour away from my house. I prefer the local rides, in areas I mostly know. The long ride lead to me driving shorter trips in a town I didn’t know. I made decent money, but it was a long night. Last night was the first time nearly all of my riders were chatty. My first night hardly anyone spoke to me and it was a very strange experience. I picked up two couples who clearly had a little too much to drink. They were loud and rambunctious and it was strange to sit quietly and not participate in the revelry. I’ve had a few people (at least one per night) who choose to ride upfront with me. They usually tend to be the chatty ones. I had one man suggest I carry a gun and a woman suggest I get pepper spray. I don’t feel unsafe. I suppose there could be a time I do, but if I drive around afraid I should probably not be doing it.  It is convenient to coordinate with Primero’s schedule, tuck the kids in bed and log onto the app when I choose. I have a set amount I want to earn per week and thus far I have exceeded it. The first few nights it was exhilarating to be out of the house alone at night. Last night was the first night it felt grueling, mostly because I was uncomfortable being so far from home. The sense of not knowing what kind of ride I might get is nerve-wracking because I worry about having to take a very long ride. I’m not sure if there is a way for me to limit that, but maybe I will learn as I go. The rider I took the farthest is a woman originally from Africa. She wanted to be able to hire me, without Uber, to drive her to work. She is a late-night nurse at a hospital. I gave her my number but I don’t think I want to make that drive on a regular basis. I am working towards a goal of 30 rides, which would earn me an additional $30 from Uber. And that’s the story of my side hustle….

Irrational Fear

I have an irrational fear about my family contracting the stomach flu. It makes my heart pound just thinking of dealing with the smells, the sounds, the ick. We have a good track record of never having gotten the stomach flu, but this has me convinced it is eminent. Last Monday, while dropping Love Bug off at daycare, I witnessed a child vomiting everywhere. I cringed, hoping Love Bug could avoid the germs. When I got to work I learned a co-worker was out sick with the stomach flu and the other co-worker informed me he was still getting over it himself, having been sick all weekend. Lysol. Bleach. Containment bubble. Someone save me! As the co-workers spent the next three days regaling me with their tales of gastrointestinal woes, my stomach started to hurt. I sat staring at my computer, the sense of impending doom filling me with dread. But, I assessed my body, telling myself it was mind over matter. My brain was telling me my stomach hurt because my fear was getting to me. Once I told myself my stomach did not hurt, it stopped aching. Thus far (knock on wood) we seemed to have escaped the dreaded stomach bug, but I know our time will come. And nothing will save us!

Just a Fluke

So, Love Bug’s terrific first baseball practice was either a fluke or him exhibiting his best behavior. We’ve had two practices since then and one ended with him screaming in my face while other embarrassed parents looked on. Not my favorite evening, to say the least. This past Saturday, I was tasked with helping at one of the practice stations. Love Bug did the practice once and then lost interest. I didn’t really follow him as he moved to the other stations, but he did come back to be several times, asking to go sit with his sister. Mostly, I just encourage him to stay with his teammates as much as possible. Thus far, besides the yelling, nothing too extreme has happened. He might find practice less tedious when they are able to go outside, which they plan to do this evening. Love Bug does like his coach and he will often times be found standing and holding her hand. He seems impervious to his teammates, not really getting involved in them or what they are doing. Except for one kid who must have an older sibling who practices when Chica Marie practices. They play together when they are not at practice. I tried practicing with Love Bug at the park but he was too distracted by the playground to participate. This will be an interesting season!

All Dogs (and Cats) Go to Heaven

I remember, when I was about 12 years old, having a question and answer session with my parents one evening while driving to the boardwalk on family vacation. I don’t remember all the questions we asked, but some were rather profound and complicated. I do remember asking if our pets went to heaven. My parents suggested we ask our pastor. As distinctly as I remember the dark summer sky filled with sparkling stars, I also remember standing in the stuffy foyer of our tiny church and posing my question to our pastor. And, I also remember how crushed his answer made me feel. “Nothing, according to the Bible, indicates that there will be any animals in heaven,” the pastor responded to my inquiry. I remember feeling the hot rush of tears spring to my eyes and how the stuffy room suddenly felt unbearable. I wanted to protest, “But, didn’t God make the animals too? Why would he abandon them, soulless and dead?” But, twelve year old me simply muttered a defeated thank you and shuffled out the door. Since then, I have decided I don’t really care if there is no evidence in the Bible, I choose to believe our special pets will meet us in heaven in some form or another. They might not have souls like human beings, but they are still deserving of an afterlife because surely anyone who has looked into the eyes of their beloved pet knows they feel love. Last Monday we had to say good-bye to our sweet kitty Pookie. As Primero and I wept together in the vet’s office, I hoped we would see Pookie once again in the great beyond.

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Don't Worry, Be Happy

I wrote about Chica Marie’s first softball practice. Other than getting caught in the rain and looking like a drowned rat, the practice was fine. Love Bug wanted to run around the gym, following the thick black or white lines. But, he stopped when I told him to because he was interrupting the practice (there were three stations and various teams practicing at once). He made a friend. This is one of the reasons I get so perplexed by his coming diagnosis (nothing is official yet – still!). He makes friends easily! He just wandered over to a different section of bleachers and started chatting with a little boy his age. He also talked to the boy’s mother and they watched shows together on the mother’s phone. The little boy is also playing t-ball because we saw him again the next day at Love Bug’s practice. Which is the purpose of this post.

 

I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I marched Love Bug over to the group of little boys and girls. I told him he needed to listen to his coach but I was not leaving and he could come get me if he needed me. Love Bug was reluctant to stay with the group but he didn’t follow me and soon the group was divided and he was helped into a blue pinafore. Love Bug’s team was running races. Love Bug was enthralled with his coach, giving a high-five after his race and one for all of his little teammates. The coach was one of those people you can tell genuinely likes kids. He seemed to be having a blast with the little boys gathered around him and Love Bug warmed up to him quickly. Sadly, this was not the coach for his team, but an assistant coach for another team.

 

Love Bug transitioned easily from his relay task to the next, where they tossed tennis balls into bags representing bases. Love Bug had quite an arm, easily throwing farther than the distance of the base. There was only one brief moment when he came running to me, for a drink of water, and another brief moment where he was lying on the floor spinning in a circle. Mostly, he was enjoying himself! And, when I realized he was not only doing ok, he was having fun, well I was so very happy! I was honestly worried, especially after talking to the early interventionist. She had me thinking this would all be too much for Love Bug, that it would an epic failure from the start (I must say epic too much because Love Bug has started calling things epic….). Love Bug might hit a point where he will struggle, but so will all of his teammates. But, he can do this! He can participate and have fun and he can make friends and, well, I knew this didn’t I? I knew he could, I knew he deserved a chance. Love Bug might be on the autism spectrum but that doesn’t and never should define him. He is an amazing little boy and he is going to have a terrific time playing t-ball. Who cares if he talks more to the adults than his peers? Who cares if he walks off the field to find me for one reason or another? I am going to be team mom, so I will always be there and I can help him if need be, but I think he is going to have more fun without me.

 

I’m anxious for the kids to start practicing outside, once the field thaws and the sunlight lasts longer. It might be more distracting for Love Bug, but I think it will also help him to be more independent from me. I am so happy Love Bug had such a great first practice. And I am glad to not have to worry so much about it.

Getting Caught in the Rain

We need to buy an umbrella. Maybe more than one. Have you ever been caught in the rain for an extended period of time? The last time I remember walking in the rain was when I was in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua and a few of us were walking to visit a volunteer who lived on top of a steep mountain. As we plodded along our ascent, a rain storm blew in and dumped cool rain onto us for about 15 minutes before it passed, leaving the cement pavers steaming. The warm tropical air dried our clothes as we continued walking, so the rain storm was more refreshing than a nuisance. In Nicaragua, I was caught in the rain many times, but being wet didn’t bother me as much, since I knew I would soon be hot and dry again. That was many moons ago, and since them I am not one who tends to spend a lot of time in the rain. I usually just dash from one point to the next, trying to shuffle the kids along as quickly as possible. Friday evening I was not so lucky. Chica Marie had her first softball practice (technically the first was Wednesday, but we were only give a few days’ notice and we couldn’t make it). The day was unseasonably warm, into the 70’s I believe. The practice was held inside the gym of a school I’ve never been to before. There was no parking, so we knew we would be walking a distance. It had been raining but had let up when we were parking. As we started walking, the rain became heavier and then a steady rain, with some thunder (and probably lightening). We dashed inside the school and immediately I knew something was off. They were selling cookies and taking admission. For softball? No, it was a school play. The not-so-helpful staff said we were in the wrong place and the only way to get to the gym was back out in the rain. They gave us crummy directions and we were back into the warm Spring rain. As we trudged around the building the rain washed down our heads and our backs. It splashed up our pant legs and filled our shoes. We finally found the gym, on the backside of the building. Chica Marie faired the best, since she was wearing her winter jacket, which she could take off. Love Bug recently got a haircut and he was wearing light clothing that dried off by the time we were leaving. I was downright miserable in a heavy, wet sweater and squishy, sodden shoes. I started getting chilly as the practice wrapped up and was ever-so happy to get home and slough off the wet clothing and slip into something dry and warm.  

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Of Two Minds

Next month I will officially enroll Love Bug in kindergarten. Yikes bikes! It doesn’t seem possible! We are going to a special registration where Love Bug will be evaluated regarding his ASD diagnosis. And I will be sitting on pins and needles holding my breath. I am of two minds here. On the one hand, Love Bug is smart (latest smarty pants moment – he wanted to know what time he would be picked up for his “special school.” I told him a little after 11. He can’t tell time yet, so he asked me, “what am I doing at 11?” so he could figure out when it was 11, thus when he would be getting picked up.) and, with the help of a TSS worker, I think he could manage being in a traditional classroom. I think he should be challenged to learn what the other students are learning and I don’t think it’s fair to toss him into another classroom without even giving him a chance to see how he manages. But…. On the other hand, the school is not there just to meet the whims of me and Love Bug and it isn’t fair to allow Love Bug to distract the other students in his class. He might also manage better in a different classroom tailored to the needs of children with the same diagnosis. I am not a teacher. I’m not an expert in early childhood education. But, I am the Love Bug expert. And, I’m not in favor of mediocre just because it makes someone else’s job easier (not that I’m saying the school is either). I’m sure ultimately, Love Bug will get into the right classroom. I’m just a little bit on edge until it is all worked out. I want him to have a good start to school and I worry that some of the stuff that tripped up his sister might be repeated with him. And this time around I won’t have the county making the ultimate decision. Love Bug’s mobile therapist has brought it up to me again, this idea that Love Bug might be in a specialized classroom setting. The teacher for the school preparation class he has been taking has emailed me asking for him to attend for more hours. She wants him to be there when more staff is available to work with him and help with the on-going evaluation. I feel like Love Bug has been undergoing a lot of evaluation and, other than getting a TSS worker and starting this class, not much seems to be happening to help him (and me) learn to change the difficult and disruptive behaviors. I am nervous about school starting and this school year hasn’t even ended yet!

Hope for Change

Last night Primero spent some time at his oldest brother’s house. His oldest brother, Mr. J., is expecting his first child in September and Primero is pretty excited about it. They had a nice visit and Primero helped his brother’s girlfriend to understand her WIC checks and after an impromptu shopping excursion, they snacked on some McDonald’s. As Primero was getting ready to leave, his mother showed up. She has been living with Mr. J, his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s mother. Both mothers have a drinking problem and Primero’s mom was noticeably drunk. She saw him and told him, “You know Primero, you are a white boy who thinks he knows everything and gets whatever he wants.” Primero shrugged as he told me this, but I know it upset him. He chalked it up to his mom being drunk, and I’m sure that’s part of it, but I think it has more to do with jealousy. I think she is jealous that he is doing so well and making his way somewhere in the world. And I think the white dig was really more directed towards me, that somehow I’ve made him “white” by association. I really don’t understand her and I really don’t think I want to. I hope Primero is able to brush it off as he said he did when he told me about it, but I think this might be something that sticks with him, as things have in the past. I want to believe there is hope for people, hope they can change and make better decisions, but when I look at his mom that seems foolish. And it all makes me so sad.

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Our New Ride

February 28^th marked five years since Primero moved in with me. This year we marked the day by getting a new van. We had finally gotten the income tax return money and went to the dealership to see if we could qualify for a loan on a newer van. Our old van was in very sad shape. Rust spots were eating through all four doors. There were scrapes and dents, some big and noticeable, all along the body. The front headlight on the driver’s side never fit back in the socket correctly after our accident, so it hung lopsidedly and on many occasions Good Samaritans would advise me I was losing my headlight. The window on the front passenger’s side would work sometimes and other times not. The back passenger’s side sliding door was broken and could not be used at all. The sliding door behind the driver could only be opened by the button inside, since the lock broke and sometimes, when it was really, really hot, the door would not open at all. The spare tire was in the back instead of under the van where it belonged because the winch was broken and we couldn’t put the tire back. The check engine light was always on. The oil light would flicker off and on and sometimes it meant the van needed oil and sometimes it didn’t. The van used about 2 quarts of oil every 6 weeks. The back tire on the passenger side was losing air and required a refill every two days. The heat did not really work up front, the defrost did not work in the front and the AC hadn’t worked in years. Plus, the van roared so loudly because the exhaust was disconnected or had a hole or something, so it made normal conversation nearly impossible and listening to the radio was similarly hard to do. So, it was more than time for our van to be put to rest. We had used it up as much as we could.

 

Our new van is not fancy, but it feels like we hit the jackpot compared to our old van. The new van is 10 years newer, for one, and with 150,000 miles less wear and tear. It does not have the fancy electric gadgets, so all the doors open manually unlike the old van, but that means less electronic things to go on the fritz. The new van is clean and drives like a dream. The night and day difference is nearly palpable; just being able to hear my children talk to me from the back seat again brings tears to my eyes! We don’t have a fancy back up screen or any other special features newer vehicles have, but that is what made our van affordable for us. The lack of bells and whistles but low mileage is really an agreeable exchange for us. We don’t take long trips, so we really need a van that can reliably get us from point A to point B and we have that in our new van. I feel like we are much safer too because we don’t have to worry about the van dying and leaving us sit alongside the road somewhere. The only downside is having a car loan again. I am going to try being an Uber driver to help offset the cost of the van. We’ll see how it goes. For right now we are all just so happy and much, much more comfortable in our new ride.

Not A Good Weekend

This past weekend was not a good one. Things started out ok, going to the car dealership to drop off the title to the old van, visiting with my friend and the kids playing with her dog in the snow. But, it was at my friend’s house where things started to sour with Love Bug. I don’t remember what made him mad. I think I denied him something, maybe candy. But, he got angry at me and started kicking me, landing a few good thumps to my shins before he began pummeling my hip and thigh with his fists. He screamed and yelled in my friends kitchen as he tried to continue his battery assault. Eventually, I got him calmed down and we made our way to the stadium for the cheer competition. Love Bug had settled a little during the ride and he was excited when we were stopped by the train that passes just next to the stadium. But, he was already unraveling. He ran, without holding my hand, and he demanded ice cream loudly until his grandmother bought him some. By the time we finally made it back home, I was wiped out but Love Bug’s dysregulation continued for a few more hours until he finally softened back to his normal self, snuggling on my lap. By that time, it was past their bedtime.

 

The following day we had to go grocery shopping after dropping Primero off at work and then we had to leave for Chica Marie’s cheerleading banquet. We were taking one of her friends along with us and it was expected to start snowing. Grocery shopping was enough to set Love Bug off and by the time we reached the banquet hall, he was rammy. He could not tolerate waiting for our table to be called to get in line to eat, but once we were in line, he stood and held my hand like an angel. Not long after we were done eating, he became agitated again. He wanted to watch train videos on my phone but I would not let him. He tried hitting and kicking me again. I rebuffed him and so spent most of the time sliding around on the dirty floor and ignoring me. It felt rude to leave while the wrestling coaches talked about their amazing season, but as soon as the majority of the people started standing to leave, we exited out a side door.

 

We have a new foster puppy, he came to us on Valentine’s Day so we call him Valentino. He’s an adorable rascal. And he pees and poops. On our floors. A lot. And it is starting to make me unravel. Last week I was up early one morning washing all the floors in the house. It’s just bad. An added task I simply do not need, but well, there it is. Most of the time I can handle it. But, after all the trying times with Love Bug and the emotional, mental and physical exhaustion I was feeling, I lost my shit Sunday night. What horrendous even tipped me over the edge into hysterics? A cat knocked a potted aloe plant into the sink. The biggest plant. Dirty was everywhere and my poor plant was in shambles. I had recently just spent the better part of an afternoon cleaning up the window sill above the kitchen sink because the cats have been attacking my plants and I wanted to try to save them. I lost a cactus type plant I had owned since I moved in and I didn’t want the aloe plants to follow suit. I don’t know if there is much hope for them, but I keep trying. And the cats keep knocking them down. And Sunday night, when I heard the crash and ran into the kitchen to see the mess, I was just done. Done with everything. Hastily, I put the kids to bed and sobbed as I scrapped the dirt back into the container and stuck the unlucky aloe plants back into the ground. Not long after I got the plant cleaned up, I put the dogs outside. As I was washing the mascara off my face, the kids got out of bed and went into my bedroom. Love Bug climbed into my bed, Chica Marie curled up with a blanket and pillow on the floor. I was almost catatonic by this point. I didn’t wrestle them back to bed, I just prepared myself to go to sleep since I was not going to get the night to myself. I heard the beagle howling and went to check on the dogs. The neighbors were out, sitting on their front porch in the falling snow. Their dog was also out and our dogs were barking and howling in protest. I called the dogs to come back inside, but they would not listen. I began sobbing again and told Primero I just wanted to get in the car and drive away. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was at the moment. I was so tired, so exhausted, so defeated by everything. He brought the dog inside and sent the kids back to their beds. I laid down and tried to sleep but found I could not. The snow knocked out the cable dish, so I couldn’t even distract myself with TV. I laid in the dark and hoped I didn’t have a snow day on Monday because I needed to go to work and be away from everyone. I ended up having a two-hour delay, allowing me to catch some more necessary sleep.

Downright Hard

I wish I had listened to myself. I wish I hadn’t let the pressure to keep things fair for both kids color my decision. I wish the whole thing was easier than it was, but that is all I can do now – wish. Last Thursday we got our new van (more on this later). I was so surprised that we were driving home in the new van, I hadn’t even thought about bringing along any paperwork, so I had to take the title to the old van back to the dealership Saturday morning. Of course, it has snowed every day since we brought the new van home, so I wanted to give us extra time Saturday morning. We arrived at the dealership sometime around 11:30 and the transaction didn’t take long but we would a good 35 minute drive outside of town and I had to drop some things off with my friend on our way back to the stadium where the cheer competition was being held. It was close to one by the time we reached the stadium and Love Bug was a little hangry. Grandma, the kids mom, and a cousin met us at the doors. I knew the kids mom would be there but didn’t tell them, thinking it would be nice surprise and it was. Things between me and the kids mom have evolved positively since our first very bad meeting, but there is still an unease between us. As we waited in line to enter the event, the kids mom put lip gloss on Chica Marie’s lips, mentioning loudly how chapped they were and how awful it was that her lips were so chapped. After we entered, we walked around to find ice cream for Love Bug because he remembers getting ice cream the last time we were in the arena for the Globetrotters event. Grandma got both the kids dippin dots then a hotdog meal and we sat down. The kids being there was a surprise for Mini Momma and she was delighted to see them, yet refused to sit with the rest of us, opting to sit closer to her team. In addition to Grandma, the kids mom and the cousin, Grandma’s wife was there and so was Mom’s boyfriend, who the kids have met before. The kids sat down next to their mom and after a few minutes Grandma commented how good Love Bug was doing sitting still. I sighed. Of course he was sitting still, he was eating the food she had bought him. Before long the kids asked for cotton candy and I let them go with their cousin to buy some. I told her a small bag or one big one for them to share but they came back with two big bags. And things with Love Bug went downhill from there. Not only did he not want to sit, he also did not want to listen to anyone. At one point his mom bought him water to “wash out all that cotton candy” and help him be more calm. Another time he was tantruming on the stairs and we were both there. His mom tried to grab him the same time I did and she ended up getting kicked, then releasing him to me. I was getting frustrated at that point but trying to keep calm so we could watch their sister and her team. Going into this event I thought about sharing the pending diagnosis for Love Bug as a way to explain how he acts. I felt judged for my parenting skills, or lack thereof, the more Love Bug acted out. I knew he was overwhelmed, I knew he really just needed to leave, but I felt like we couldn’t do that, we couldn’t just leave. Thankfully, we had to go by a certain time in order to take Primero into work. I was so exhausted by that point I could have wept. But, it was Chica Marie who cried the whole ride home, sobbing that she wanted to see her mommy again. She was told next time she went to see her Grandmother she would see her mom but I don’t think anyone told her directly that her mom was living with her grandmother and therefore her sister as well. I think it would hurt her heart to know her sister and mom were living together. I can sense those same old feelings Chica Marie used to feel during visits when she was pushed aside for her older sister and I hate it for her. We do not have a date set for the kids to visit, but I’m sure it will be soon and I am already dreading it. I am so glad their mom is doing better I am very glad she can be in their lives, but honestly this whole thing is just downright hard.

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Unequal

 

Grandma invited me and the kids to watch a cheer championship where Mini Momma’s team will be competing. It is in our town, so that makes it very convenient. I said we would like to go but cautioned that Love Bug would likely not sit through the whole three-hour event. Grandma responded by offering for me to just drop Chica Marie off with them. On the surface it sounds like she is trying to make a compromise but I honestly think it’s more than that. In the past, Love Bug has been over-looked by Grandma in favor of Chica Marie. I understand it must be harder with Love Bug because he has only every lived with me and so he feels like he is more mine and less theirs. I get that. But, kids are not dumb and they know when one is getting special treatment over the other. Back when Grandma thought she was going to get Chica Marie, she brought a special track suit to court for her. Nothing for Love Bug. Chica Marie was given change from Grandma and Love Bug didn’t get a cent. Maybe it’s because my parents and my grandparents were always big on making things as fair as they could, but it ruffles my feathers how easy it seems to drop Love Bug in favor of Chica Marie. I know Grandma has more of a connection with Chica Marie and maybe even identifies more with her, but Love Bug also wants to be recognized as part of the family and I know, if this continues, it will hurt him if there isn’t more equality. So, I decided we would all go together and we will stay as long as Love Bug is willing and when he has had enough and is feeling overwhelmed and tantrum-y then we will go. Is it unfair of me to take Chica Marie away from the event? Maybe. But, at least her and her brother have the same experience.

Everybody Hurts

In my last post, I wrote about a book I recently read called “Sensitivity Girl.” I expressed feeling inadequate and sad about not having a strong network of people I can lean on and trust in times of need, like the author had. Even though I overall liked the book, there were other difficult themes I encountered. The author wrote about how she surprisingly became pregnant with triplets moments after stopping birth control. Not only did she not have any issues with infertility but she was a fertile overachiever. She became pregnant. With triplets. Without medical intervention. Without even trying hard. And it was such a surprise! It was hard to read that blessedly short section of the book. As I read, I reminded myself her amazing fertility aside, she certainly had many other challenges, including a complicated pregnancy with many weeks of bedrest. Still, when looking at the inequality of infertility, it’s just another reminder the world is not fair. It’s not that I would ever want to be pregnant with triplets, but I do feel a twinge of jealousy at how ridiculously easy it was for her to conceive not one, but three babies simultaneously. Did I mention she was in her mid-30’s? You know, when a woman’s fertility is supposed to be tipping into the abyss of infertility to the sound of an erratic, beating internal clock. It’s hard to not read that and have to swallow the lump of jealousy, to push away the green monster of envy clawing into my mind. She spent little time contemplating the miraculous conception, focusing more on the complicated pregnancy and marital issues that began cropping up, but this is part of the book that has stuck with me.

 

In addition to the miraculous, semi-unplanned triplet pregnancy, she wrote about how “easy” her kids were as they were growing up. She literally said her kids were easy, meaning they didn’t have a lot of behavioral issues even having lost their father at such young ages. She worried about not “messing up” with them doubly because she was left as their sole surviving parent following the death of her husband. She worked hard to have a calm, loving environment for them. Her kids seemed to respond and grow positively. This is all terrific and it is wonderful to read how well-adjusted them seemed to be, but…. God it was hard to read! As soon as I read the sentence of how “easy” her kids were, I put the book down. I just needed to breathe a few minutes. Again, it isn’t that everything was easy for her and it certainly didn’t mean there weren’t moments her kids gave her a run for her money. But, the overall idea that they were easy stabbed me in the heart because I could never describe my kids as easy. Not even tiny infant Love Bug was easy. Loving them is easy. Raising them is hard, so very, very hard. I would think having three at once would be hard and the kids would struggle with getting enough attention from their mom. But, I view the world thought a lens of a different color. My children have faced trauma at very young ages. This trauma has led to some maladaptive behaviors; things they needed to create to help them survive but make for difficulties when they don’t need to be in fight or flight mode. These behaviors spill over into our everyday lives and are complicated by diagnosis like ADHD, Oppositional Defiance, and Autism Spectrum Disorder. I love my children, I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but they give me a run for the money daily. Their struggle has become mine and sometimes, after long days of trying behaviors, I feel like the best to hope for is to just hang on.

 

The greater take-away I have after reading this book is that everyone goes through tough times, but they are all as individual as every person. What is excruciatingly hard for me might not be the hard thing for someone else but their hard thing might be something I couldn’t even imagine enduring. Both the author and I have experienced loss, just in different ways. There is no point in trying to compare the differences in our losses because they are as unique to us as our fingerprints. It is better to focus on how we each found the strength to soldier through our difficulties because that is truly the beauty of our stories.