Memories and So On

I wish I could post a picture of Alex's birthday, but my computer is somehow interpreting the insertion of the memory card as a command to shut down the screen rather than copy the photos. So, until the tech guru can figure out why it's acting all wacky, I guess you'll have to use your imaginations.

He had a great birthday yesterday. Ten years old. It's been a whole decade since he arrived. I think his birth was a portent of things to come. He couldn't be ordinary, even in that regard. Labor was uneventful, except for the fact that at first the epidural only took on one side. Back labor, on one side ... Being induced, the contraction hit hard and furious. I was not a happy camper. Pitocin is not as friendly as nature (although it's all relative!), and I had no time to ease into increasing pains. It was suddenly there, as if on a mission to bend me in half and crush me ... I cried. (Yes, I'm embarrassed about that fact, but ... what can I say?) Thankfully, a little adjustment of the tube in my back, and I was pain free again.

About 20 hours later, it was time for the grand finale. Delivering Kaitlyn had not been easy. I remember being surprised by how much WORK it took. It was almost like trying to topple a stone wall with your hands. Brace, breathe, push, brace, breath, PUSH ... Do this for an hour and start to despair. Lay there exposed to the world and think (silently, of course) that whoever said women are so absorbed in the task at hand that they don't feel the humiliation of being spread eagle before a bunch of strangers was a complete moron ... Brace, breathe, push ... When we caught sight of the top of her dark little head, it all became just a tad overwhelming, and I started to cry. My sister Katie was with me at the time. She was holding her five week old son, Stephen, in one arm, and my leg in the other. She asked the nurse, "Why is she crying? She doesn't even have any pain." I was so embarrassed at my weakness. But the nurse said, "Let her do what she has to do." (Thankfully, at the time I didn't realize that this feeling of being overwhelmed would last a full year.)

Alex's delivery was not like that. An old pro by then (hah!), things went along smoothly until his head was delivered. His massive shoulders hit the gates ... and stuck fast. With the push of a button, the room filled with people. I'll spare you the details of the next minute or so. Suffice it to say that, with a bit of extra help, Alex did make his grand entrance--weighing in at 10 lb., 3 oz.

He was a sweet baby, not like Kaitlyn at all. No offense intended to my daughter, whom I cherish just the way she is, but my infant daughter quickly decided she wasn't into this whole breastfeeding thing and darn near gave me an ulcer, convinced as I was that she was going to starve to death. After a few days, I called my mother in tears. (I did this crying thing a lot in those days. Hey! I heard that. I do NOT still cry a lot. Well, okay. Maybe I do ... but not nearly as much as back then!) My mom left work to come take me to the breastfeeding clinic where they showed me how to nurse. How humiliating was that?! Having to be shown how to do something that I'd assumed just came naturally ... Well, it still didn't "take." I finally, reluctantly, switched her to formula. She screamed and cried for a week. I was beside myself. I couldn't survive this ... could I? But when I went back to nursing, the torment in her little belly ceased. After a rocky first three weeks, things settled in for a more or less smooth ride.

Alex wasn't like that. Alex was a sweet, docile baby from the start. He ate well, slept well, cried rarely ... And he was so darn cute! While Kaitlyn had been long and stringy (but gorgeous in a sculpted, non-infant sort of way), Alex was so tubby that I dubbed him Buddha Belly for the first three years or so. He loved to swing. I found out later that this is a key trait of autism. Swinging is often used to calm autistic children, but I didn't know that at the time. I just knew that he loved his swing. I would take it with me pretty much everywhere we went, and he'd sleep through most any gathering, leaving me free to chat and so on. The sleeping, too, was an autism thing, although I didn't realize it then. Autistic children are as different as NT (neurotypical) children. They don't fit into any mold, no matter how convenient that might be for those trying to understand and help them. But it seems true that in general, autistic children, when experiencing sensory overload, tend to rage or shut down. We were fortunate that our infant son shut down. He just plumb went to sleep, which suited me just fine! It was only much later that I realized that this had anything to do with the wiring in his brain.

The first time anyone suggested autism was when we went for a checkup when he was ... I think, two? He wasn't speaking, at all. The doctor said, "He could be autistic," with the same nonchalance that he might have said, "He'll probably end up tall" or some such thing. He told us nothing about what to do from there. A few months later, we got him tested by the county and put into first an organized playgroup (parents stayed and participated) and in speech therapy. (He gave poor Barb a heck of a time. He would just look at her and smile, but would not open his little mouth for NOTHIN'! Veteran speech therapist that she was, even she got frustrated after a bit. He just clearly didn't feel the need to talk. I don't actually remember when he started, and it wasn't as if a dam broke and he was suddenly speaking in sentences, but he did start speaking finally. Some days now I wonder if he's trying to make up for lost time. I can't get the kid to shut up! But I should be (I am!) grateful that he's not one those brilliant children trapped without speech.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, playgroup and speech therapy. And then special preschool the very week he turned three and was thus eligible. And another year of state sponsored and supervised preK, which he took to well. Mainstream kindergarten went well, too, but first grade ... not so good. I pulled him out, homeschooled him for a while, then gradually put him back in for longer and longer periods of time until by (I think) a few months into second grade, he was back full time with his peers.

We are fortunate that he has such a great team of teachers and specialists behind him. I don't know what junior high will be like. In fact, after all that Kaitlyn is going through, I really dread it for his sake and wouldn't be at all surprised if we end up pulling him out and homeschooling him again for a year or two. A lot of parents whose kids have HFA and AS do that, apparently. Junior high can be so brutal, and it doesn't help that hormones, etc. make the autistic child even quirkier than usual for a period of time. So, I'm preparing myself for the possibility that he may be home again for awhile. But for now, at the grade school, his team has truly been ... amazing. What else can I say? They're amazing.

I talked to Peggy, his speech therapist, yesterday. She is helping to deal with the bullying issues that have been going on with a child that we shall just call J. since we're in a public forum. Her face clouded over as we talked, and she said, "I'd like to pummel J. myself. That's how close I feel to Alex." Of course, she can't do that! And wouldn't. But she wrote to me earlier this week, "I am just sick that this is still going on ..." With people who care about my son that much, he's bound to turn out all right.