My kid is normal, dang it

My son was born with red hair and blue eyes.  He was pink and squirmy and I have never felt anything so perfect in my arms as my him.  One day, someone with a big book, and a proper degree would label him Autistic.  Don't fall for this one, I did and I started to believe in the label, not my baby.

I kissed his little lips, dressed him in his blue outfit with orange duckies, and prepared to bring him home after about day 2 in the hospital.

I ate onions on a chili dog on the way home from the hospital which in turn gave him gas.  My first night home from the hospital I was sure that there had to be a place to drop off crying babies that couldn't be pacified. Had I made a horrible mistake, or had I been gifted with the most wonderful little bundle of happiness and joy that could be bestowed on a mom? Soon gas passed (as it does with baby gas drops), and all becomes right with the world of babies and little clothes and oohs and awhhs over your baby also known as my "pumpkin pie."

So as I traipse through the years, along the timeline we stop at about age 3.  I figured that I had created a small monster.  Surely, I had spoiled this small child by having him at 32 and breastfeeding him for a year. Why was he so flipping obstinate?  Surely, I did enough for him that he could just chill out and do what was expected of him, right?

Daycare had trouble with my now blond hair, blue eyed pumpkin that I loved with all my heart.  This love was by turns looking into his eyes and knowing my miracle was PERFECT and also that he was so defiant he had to be the world's largest pain in the bahookie.

The world moves again moves ahead to about age 6 or 7.  School was bookbags, new clothes, tears, and tears, and tears..  Rage, and some more tears.  After a while, I developed a routine of shoving my bundle of joy into the back seat of the car, kicking and screaming (I didn't say I was an informed mom and plus, my kid looked normal, he was just being a spoiled brat for goodness sake, wasn't he?), and I dropped him off at the school where a Godsend principle literally performed a hand-off of my lovey boy/brat/?, and carried him into the school.

As I skip a bit further, I belatedly realize that a kid does what he can, he doesn't just set out to make you unhappy with him.  Education and movements from elements of depression and many lost jobs over not making it to work on time, my bi-polar going untreated, and a profound realization that he needed treatment and so did I, occurred.  (Now, I am an A D V O C A T E for my pumpkin pie.   Remember that "degrees" can advise but you know yourself, your family, and your child best.  Get help, of course, but you're bright, dang it and you have the knowledge of your child that no one else has.)

I PRAISE parents who "get it" that something just isn't right.  But what if you are moving along your path watching Sponge Bob, and Teletubbies (when it hadn't been made into what it wasn't - sometimes a purse is just a purse), and Barnie.  What if you have hugs, kisses, bubble baths, and your little perfect monster leaves the water hose on for 3 days before you catch it and you have a "come to Jesus meeting" with the water utility company.  What if it all starts out with happiness and joy (after the first shocking sonogram where I finally agreed that, yes, I was pregnant, wow!).

I feel that I tried to do it all right, but somehow it wasn't enough, was it?  Well, yes, after tears, prayer, saving birds that my son's cat brought in still alive, all of these things made my life, and his, worth-while.  Our lives have been in therapy out the wazoo, and I continue to love but make mistakes anyway...

My family is pulling it all together or maybe just learning to eat the elephant one bite at a time.  A joyful life can exist and sometimes it is living and breathing, co-existing with intense pain, but one emotion doesn't have to override the other.

Remember as Sponge Bob sings, FUN, Fun is for friends who do things together, U is for you and me, N is for anywhere and anytime at all, here in the deep blue sea.  Remember, the blue onsies and orange duckie outfits picked out from Walmart and the hope you were building as you started the process of bringing him or her home.

Remember to build a life worth living.

Julie Anne Joyce