My Baby, My Heartache

I can’t believe that Asher will be 5 in June. When he was 2, we saw his pediatrician because he wasn’t speaking. Since then, it has been crazy. My life has been crazy. My family’s life has been crazy. It feels like a crazy dream. The older he gets, the more he looks like a big boy. It makes me sad though. Asher, developmentally, is at the level of a 2 year old AND he doesn’t speak. Everytime I hear that and everytime I think about it, I cry. I think about him growing and still needing diapers. I think about him losing his little baby teeth and getting the big ones. I think about him starting kindergarten and I know he won’t. I want to freeze time and get him caught up.

I realize that a lot of my blogs are sad. Sad and reality go hand in hand with me. I think that I’m supposed to get to the point where I come to terms with all of this. Will that ever really happen? Are there parents that do, or are they faking it?  I’m tired. I’m negative.

When Asher goes through one of his phases, I think there will never be an end to the madness. His recent phase is screaming. I don’t mean a little squeal. I mean screaming at the top of his lungs, taking a deep breath, and continuing to scream. This screaming is because he is frustrated. He wants something or needs something and he can’t communicate it. The worst thing we can do is give in to it because he’ll never quit if he gets his way when he does it. His teacher told us to ignore it. His developmental pediatrician agreed. Yesterday, I thought that his screaming was less. Now he’s spitting.

I threw a major bawling, squalling fit this weekend. I’m sick of him getting into everything. He climbs and gets in cabinets destroying everything in his path. I added extra locks. I blocked off rooms and I packed up everything that sat on the countertops. I filled totes with everything that made our house look lived in. The worst thing I did was get furious with God. I’m not ready to discuss that yet.

I’m grieving so hard. He is healthy and beautiful. He should be acting like a 4 year old. I guess he was meant to be this kid- not the one that I thought he’d be. I look at him and I want him to snap out of it. That’s not how Autism works, but it’s how this momma thinks. There is no one who really understands me. There is no doctor, therapist, family member, or husband who can comfort me.

I can’t describe it. These words are not adequate.

I turned my coat closet into a sensory room for him. He has a string of lights, a bean bag chair, and some sensory toys. I climbed in there with him tonight. He looked right at me and smiled so big. I could see his dimples. He was giggling. He was so happy. He is always so happy. Why in the world can’t I be happy about that? I’m resentful and selfish. I want his happiness to be on my terms. This messes with my mind.

I have to do better.