In His Own Time

So. John.

We're home — and for the first time in nearly six weeks, John does not have a runny nose, congestion, a cough. The antibiotics he's on for his tonsillitis have zapped every alien germ in his body and he's been feeling pretty good. This has translated in more eye contact, more words, more communicating. More hugs.


It started while we were in the hospital. Lying there for hours on end, he'd peek over at me through the rails and say "Hey!" Hey, I'd reply, how are you. "Hey!" he'd repeat, and pull me close. "Hug," he'd say.

When the nurses came in to check his IV, he'd shout "Buh-bye!" and "Stroller?" hoping I'd wheel him out. When the doctors tried to examine his throat and listen to his chest, he'd protest: "Mommy's car!" and then demand: "Stroller, buh-bye!"

For the first few days he would not eat. At 2 a.m. one night the requests started: "Applesauce?" After finishing that off, it was "Yogurt?", "Cheerios?", "Juice?"

Then one afternoon while he watched a DVD and I read the paper, he yelled "Hey!" I looked and he said "Diaper." I said Diaper? "Diaper?!" he said again. Sure enough, he had soaked through to the sheets.

Yesterday morning he woke up dry and after giving him his juice, I noticed him standing a little funny so I asked if he had to go potty. "Potty," he repeated and pulled me to the bathroom. I watched with amazement as he stood facing the toilet. We're not there yet — he won't yet go in the potty, but OMG!

I don't know how much of all of this wonderful communicating has to do with not feeling crummy, but whoa, what a week.

Happy Inauguration Day

I never expected I would watch history being made from the inside of a hospital room, or that John would develop tonsillitis and be admitted over the weekend.

(Luckily, he kept his tonsils. For now.)

Or that I would squint up at a tiny, reception-poor TV while dodging a very grumpy, (guess-she-supported-the-other-guy?) nurse hooking up John's IV just as Mr. Obama was about to take his oath...


It's never boring 'round these parts. What a day, even from a dingy hospital room. We all danced around the room and soon after John was discharged in the afternoon.
The End.

A Slow Fade

I want to talk about disappearing.

Yes, there is the obvious disappearance of posts from my blog — but I'm talking about the slow fade of my joie de vivre. Over the last two years, since the boys were diagnosed, I've been beating a slow retreat from me: from who I used to be, or thought I was, and from the things that made me happy: reading a book, having lunch with a friend. Writing. I've put myself at the bottom of my list. Internet, I've let myself go. Yes, I've put on the obvious physical weight that no longer comes off as easily as it once did, but I'm also carrying around the weight of you, Autism. It is convenient, I know, to pin this crappy feeling on our daily struggles with you, and perhaps it is a little unfair. But Autism? You've been kicking my butt lately and I feel like kicking you back.

If I were not trying desperately to figure out why John is yelling "Ready, Set, Run?!" over and over as I also try to clean the poo-strewn walls with Clorox wipes...again...I would really sit down for a moment and try to recapture a time when I felt hopeful. And happy. I know all of this may sound maudlin and a little over-the-top. I mean, there are numerous happy moments too. Really, there are. It's just that where I'm sitting right now is shrouded in fog so that it's hard to make them out.

The sleepless nights continue. Winter break was too long, too unstructured. John must must must be potty-trained soon. This is a stage I am quickly tiring of and it scares me. What if he is never potty trained, god help us. Could we still be changing diapers when he's five?

Even as I sit here, all pissed at you and rightly so!, I feel guilty. Guilty! How can I blame my unhappiness all on you, Autism? I guess I should take some responsibility for letting you take center stage. I've done that I suppose. You did not make me eat that bowl of ice cream tonight. You did not cancel my lunch today.

A couple of things have happened recently: first, I found Facebook, or Facebook found me. I don't know, but the assault of people I have not seen or heard from for 25+ years is really making me feel old and a little dizzy. Second, while out shopping with my younger sister a saleswoman asked if I was The Mother. Can you imagine? Well, the fact is that I am 18 years older, and I am a mother — not hers — but still.

So I feel like picking a fight with you, Autism. I know you are not really my nemesis, but you're not my friend either. And you've done plenty lately to make me a bit irate. I promise, though, to start ignoring you when you jump on the furniture and draw poopy pictures on the walls. I vow to make you do the slow fade. Instead I will draw John near and wait breathlessly until he says his new favorite word: Hug.

And I will move myself up a little higher on my list. A new year, an old resolution.