Diana and I make jokes to each other about some of Simon's quirks, in light of his recent ASD diagnosis, and I suppose there are a lot of reasons for that. The biggest reason might be that, at this point, it's not like we were shocked, and his quirks that are likely tied to the disorders aren't new either.
But there's still a lot of anxiety that I think we try to mask. I think my coping mechanism is rooted in the, "Well it could be worse," frame of mind. I have friends with kids that have issues ranging from the mega-autism-meltdown and doesn't talk much variety, to another whose son had three heart surgeries in his first few months of life. The thinking goes that your problems aren't nearly as serious, so what right do you have to complain? That sort of self-trivialization of your feelings is obviously not healthy, but I know I do it.
You start to feel weird about terms like "normal" and you can see how some things just seem "broken," and it sucks. I'm still working through the anger over the suckage, I think, so I can just put the energy into being his dad.
Last night, we went for a quick two-hour trip to Magic Kingdom, just me and the boy. Diana needed to get some groceries, and probably a little break. I felt like Simon needed some recognition, too, because he has been really good about wearing underwear, even to school, without accidents. Taking a dump on a toilet is still not going anywhere, but he's starting to drain consistently if we keep asking him. Amusement rides also seem to be good for the "sensory diet" he needs, as his body and brain seek more intense sensations (part of the sensory processing disorder stuff).
Things were going pretty well, and on our way back, he got into his routine of repeating on the monorail, over and over to anyone who will listen, that the doors will open and close. (That's the repetitive and obsessive behavior problem, of course.) We were parked at the Polynesian, but when the doors opened at the TTC, he bolted out of the train and hauled ass toward the exit. I yelled to him three times and he didn't stop. I caught him at the exit, grabbed him, and got back on the train where I promptly yelled at him for not listening and running away. It was intense because, on one hand, he scared the shit out of me, and all I could think about was him getting lost. On the other hand, the yelling and argumentative tone he has been taking with us lately was absent, and he instead cried as you would expect most kids to when they're being disciplined. There was a strange sense of relief in that.
Tonight, we cuddled on the couch and talked a bit about his day, which started poorly and got worse at school. While he's trying to be conversational, it's still hard for him, so I focused on the feelings he had today. He was able to tell me he was angry, even if he couldn't tell me why. That was progress. While I was holding him, I still had those feelings of fear and anxiety, that things might just be a little harder for him than other kids, and that made me sad.
Still, I have to think about the progress. Diana had an excellent blog post today about how far he has come, largely in part due to school. It's actually really easy to frame that perspective, because we moved six months ago, and the change is dramatic.
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