the big phoque

Survey says...Delayed!

2008-02-20T11:29:00.002-05:00

I have been filling out an online version of the Ages and Stages Questionnaire every once in a while for about a year now. I do it to check what G is supposed to be doing from month to month. It's less stressful than some of the other tests and it is designed to be completed by parents. G really loves doing the items on the tests. It's a fun little bit of playtime for both of us.

I typically exclude the gross motor section because I know it would show a delay. I was feeling pretty confident this past time though, so I filled it out. I mean, he was discharged wasn't he? They said he was age-appropriate at about 18 months. So, I got to that section and started filling it out. At the first question/statement, I knew we were in trouble.

My child runs easily, stopping and starting smoothly, changing direction and rarely falling. Yes, Sometimes, No.

Ummmm...my child doesn't run at all? He also does not go up or down stairs on his feet while holding the railing. He does not climb onto the couch. There are toddlers his age who do this stuff? I was not surprised when I got the survey back and it said that perhaps I should call early intervention.

I find myself racking my brain trying to remember what M could do and when. She was certainly no star, but I think she was running by now. A slow run, to be sure, but a run all the same. But he climbing on the couch thing was very late for her too. Our ped expressed some astonishment that she could speak in multi-word sentences but could not get on the couch.

It's amazing to me that I am going to write this, but I am not worried. To paraphrase one of my friends, "He walks, he talks, he's fine." We'll see how I feel at the end of the summer, but for now I am not calling early intervention.

What if Mama isn't ready?

2008-02-20T11:15:00.003-05:00

M has two choices for preschool next year. She can go 4 times a week for two and a half hours, or she can go 5 days a week from 9 am until 2 pm. I wish there were some sort of middle ground. One option seems like it's not quite enough and the other seems to be only minutes shorter than a kindergarten day.

I don't know what to do here--she seems to be excited about the idea of going to school every day and REALLY excited about having lunch with her friends. But I confess that I feel unready for her to be in school all day. She will be in school all day, five days a week for years. Why start earlier than necessary? Why miss out on those impromptu trips to the zoo? I tell myself all of this and stand firm on my decision on the four-day-a-week program.

Then that little competitive voice starts whispering to me about kindergarten readiness, about all the other mothers who sent their four year olds to a longer program. I don't like that voice, but it's there all the same. It's the same one that makes me want to call the other mothers in M's class and see who is writing his or her name, who can identify the sounds that letters make. I confess that I have seriously considered finding a more academic school for her.

I just don't know what to do in this case. I have two weeks to decide and it will be difficult to change after that. It just feels so final.

A Hallmark moment, brought to you by McDonald's

2007-12-13T07:02:00.000-05:00

Scene: A quiet afternoon in the family room

G: (rests head on his mom's knee) I luv ew, Mama.

VC: (completely choked up and thrilled) I love you too, G.

G: I luv Papa

VC: Ohhh...that's nice.

G: (bats eyes at me) I luv...chicken nuggets.

Well, at least we rated fractionally higher than a fast food item.

New direction

2007-11-18T15:16:00.000-05:00

I feel a little bit lost now that G will be out of therapy. What will I write about now that he is getting kicked out?

This blog had been going in an angry direction, fueled by the speculation of a few online denizens that G has never had any issues, that they were all figments of my imagination and anxiety. I still feel very strongly that I was mistreated and it still hurts. Yes, G is doing wonderfully, but there are times when F and I lie quietly in the dark and wonder about what his quirks mean. Why does a simple bath make him scream like a banshee? Why does he bonk his head repeatedly on things (mostly me)? But I am done worrying about people who have no place in my real life, who will never know my child.

I have enjoyed the few commenters on this blog and I hope that my past posts have not driven them away or convinced them I was truly crazy.

So, if anger and therapy are out, what to discuss? Books? Movies? I think that I will just strive to be honest and interesting about my life and my family. And try to do it more often...

Getting kicked out

2007-11-18T15:02:00.000-05:00

Well, after a year of work, worry and fervent wishes, our hopes are about to come true. G is about to get kicked out of the local infants and toddlers program. His progress over the past few months has been astounding and I just don't feel that it's right to take therapists away from other clients who have greater needs.

The OT did the Mullen scales with him and he scored at least age-appropriate on almost everything. It was great to watch, though a little nerve-wracking. We have our last session in a few weeks. We are going to work on spoon use, something that gives him a lot of trouble but not enough to justify therapy. I hope she gives me some good hints I can use.

The PT did some testing with him and he is just about age-appropriate in gross motor. She did say that she thought his walk still looked pretty immature and that we should keep watching it. I think it will improve now that he actually seems to like being in motion.

It's amazing to me that at 13 months everyone was really panicking because G was not mobile in any way. It really seemed that we were looking at a long-term issue. In 5 months he has gone from pretty delayed to pretty much age-appropriate. I can't say right now whether he will eventually need more therapy--I can't say the same about M either. Writing, reading or riding a bike may prove to be very challenging for both of them--or neither of them. Right now it feels like we are in a pretty good place.

I am not sure what to get G's therapists as parting gifts. They have been such a huge help and source of encouragement. If anyone in my tiny readership has ideas, bring 'em on!!

The Curse of 100blessings

2007-09-22T14:50:00.000-04:00

It was bound to happen. I have my first internet stalker/harasser. She is a rabid anti-vaxer who took offense at something I said about 35 posts ago. Since that time, she has made it her mission in life to mock me, call me hurtful and apparently, monitor my posts on multiple boards. I am getting concerned that she might show up on my driveway one of these days. I angered her further this week by giving my opinion on Jenny McCarthy. According to her, only a mother of a child actually diagnosed with autism can have an opinion on vaccines.

Her whole point seems to be that her child is one of the most severe and therefore, she can monitor who can go on what boards and ask what questions. It's pretty amazing that she can appoint herself judge, jury and executioner so easily. At the end of her last diatribe, she said that she wouldn't go on a prematurity board as the mother of a 36 weeker. Well, what if that 36 weeker had problems related to prematurity? It can and does happen. I have a good friend with a former 28 weeker. She has had few of the expected problems over the years--does that make her ineligible too? The competition for the worst-of-the-worst is disgusting and this woman is heavily invested in it.

I have definitely decided that the asd board is just not for me (or G for that matter). The atmosphere there is just bizarre, bordering on abusive. Now, off to change my screen name for every single place I have ever posted, just to make sure.

Thanks for the "support"

2007-09-21T14:06:00.000-04:00

To all the lovely, kind, supportive women on the Babycenter asd board:

I am not sure where you got the idea that my son has always been typically developing or that my question was posted to "rub salt in your wounds". He has received therapy almost since birth, something his doctors are in agreement that he needs. We have had some spectacular developmental gains over the past month or so and that has led me to wonder if they indeed cancel out some of his past issues.

G was extremely hyperreactive after birth and would scream at unbelievable decibels with each diaper change. He had poor eye contact at 8-10 weeks and terrible tracking skills. They were bad enough that the ped asked us to see a pediatric opthalmologist to make sure G's vision was normal. The first time the neuro saw him he was really worried by how blank and expressionless G's face was. He got us set up for an MRI and EEG as soon as humanly possible. My child's pediatrician called me in tears after her phone conference with him, thinking they were going to find something wrong. We were surprised and grateful to get clean labs and a normal MRI.

After the tests, the ped. was worried enough during one of his well-baby visits to call in a favor and get him seen by the developmental pediatrician the following day. She described him as delayed and wanted us to get a lot more therapy.

I got the Floortime book to try to improve his issues on my own, whatever was causing them. I worked daily with him, rocking him on the porch swing for hours while singing silly songs to try to gain eye contact. Little by little, his capacity improved. However, when he looked at us, it was more likely to give us a glare. He was late to both smile and laugh and both strangers and relatives alike commented on how serious he was.

During the period between 2 and 8 months, G's head circumference percentile went from the 60th to well over the 100th. That's fast, ladies and gents. Rapid head growth is a fairly well-established phenomenon in autism, and we were understandably worried. Both my husband and I have big heads though, so we hoped to write it off as genetics. We still don't know whether the head growth is an issue so the docs will continue to monitor it.

While I worked on the eye contact and object tracking, the EI team tackled his newly diagnosed hypotonia. His reflexes were bad to non-existent in some areas. At 8 months, if he got knocked over while sitting, he just fell on his head. All of the "catching" reflexes are still not fully developed at 17 mos. This is also a "soft sign" for asd. His gross motor skills were delayed. He finally crawled at 13.5 months after almost a year of therapy. Because he did not move for so long and his endurance was so poor, we discussed additional testing and muscle biopsies. We have opted against both at this point. He has just started walking within the last two weeks.

He talked on time, yes, but had a few dozen words before it ever occurred to him to say "Mama." He pointed on time, but dropped it for weeks. In their notes, the therapists all say they were unable to elicit a point and wanted to monitor that situation. Thankfully, he started up again. He was late for both waving and peek-a-boo, but once he did it, he did it. He has a start-and-stop history with milestones that I have really not bothered to post on here.

The past few months have held an explosive amount of progress for G. We are thrilled about it, but not sure whether his rocky past will have any impact on further development. With all of the new positives have come some quirky little things. Red flags? I doubt it, but with every thing else going on they are worth noticing. He has gotten more sensitive to sensory stimuli. The private PT had to take away a Wiggles car because he was so afraid of it. He will still go to any length to avoid touching grass. He flat out refused to touch a Koosh ball when the OT held it out to him. He still struggles with some fine motor items--after months of daily work the spoon still seems to be a mystery to him.

Yes, I was terribly depressed after my pregnancy but it's become a chicken-and-the-egg kind of thing. Was I depressed because of hormones or because my baby was not typically developing? Either way, my earliest posts on this board were no doubt hysterical and for that I apologize. I am sorry that I offended so many people with this post. But I think most of the offense was because of Jenny M. anyway. I have every right to have an opinion on her, diagnosis or not. And hurtful is not defined as "an opinion which differs from mine."

I enjoy my son, I am thankful each and every day for him--no worries there. I do not present him as a prodigy, but instead as a baby who has improved much faster than expectations. Do I think my son has classic autism? No. Do I think he has enough quirky traits to be monitored? Yes. Do I think his rocky history might predispose him to regression? I am not sure. I think the most reasonable answer is that his low tone has affected a lot of things but not his speech. As it has improved, he has improved. Does my questioning still make me the crazy lady?

Believe me, IN, I am not the skinny girl with the yogurt, LOL.

And that's all she wrote (and ever will)

The liars among us and how to combat them

2007-09-13T15:47:00.000-04:00

There is a terrifying series of posts on my favorite "support" board today. A frantic mother posted that her sons, who were just diagnosed with asd, were not going to be allowed in preschool unless they had been fully vaccinated. She wanted to know how to get an exemption.

Well, all of the usual suspects jumped on board with their advice about claiming a religious exemption. One particularly helpful woman posted a long letter filled with drivel and supposedly pertinent Bible passages to illustrate the point. They were all just aghast at the preschool and the state in general for requiring such things. The mother who originated the post copied the sample letter, substituted the names of her sons ans submitted it to the school. Hours later, she ecstatically posted that her kids were in school without their vaccinations--it was so much easier than she thought it would be. Oh, there is a place in heaven for you, true believer!

My tongue is getting bloody from biting it so much when I read the messages in that forum. I want to scream at these people, to make them realize that what they do puts my children at risk and sets critical thinking back by about 100 years. The ignorance and stupidity they post seems to spread like a virus, making the site actually dangerous for newcomers to read. When I posted once that G had a large head, someone I'll call Aluminum Woman responded that heavy metal poisoning was known to cause swelling of the head. I'll tell you what causes swelling--banging your head in frustration at having to deal with such ignorant people.

I wonder why I hesitate to say something. What is the worst thing that could happen? I guess I could get kicked off the site and that's not really something I care much about. I do frequent other boards on the site, but not so often that they make a difference in my life.

Size matters

2007-08-24T14:13:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I took the kids to the big playground, one of their favorite places on earth. G loves it because it has the highest proportion of fake steering wheels of any playground in our area. He starts chanting, "Drive, drive, drive!" every time we approach. Then once he has the wheel in his hands, he makes all kinds of appropriate vroooming noises. I don't know where he is going, but he is going there fast. M, daredevil that she is, heads immediately for the highest slide out of my line of vision. It's our system, and it works.

As soon as we arrived, both kids took their appointed spots and the fun began. Things were going so well until I opened my big mouth. Another little boy approached the steering wheel while G was playing. He looked to be about the same height as G with roughly the same skill set. Well, except for the fact that he was actually walking unaided. I once again made the mistake of assuming they were the same age. The conversation went like this:

VC: They look to be about the same age. And the same white-blond, curly hair too!

Other Mother: Well, they might not be the same age. My son is really, really big for his age.

VC: (eagerly) Yes, mine too. How old is he?

Other Mother: Well, he's only 23 months old.

(she pauses for me to exclaim about how her son certainly is very big)

Other Mother: How old is he?

VC: (kind of embarrassed now to respond) Uh, well...he will be 16 months old tomorrow.

Other Mother: (eyes widen in surprise) Oh!

This encounter was my fault. I have been right about one baby's age in the past year or so and I should know better than to ask. But I have had many encounters that I didn't initiate, that were brought on by someone's innocent question.

The worst example was the Japanese family at the mall play area. The mother asked me how old G was. I said that he was eleven months old and she actually ran over to her other relatives to tell them. They all came over to see the giant baby for themselves. They spent several minutes looking at him and chattering excitedly in Japanese with an occasional nod to me.

Nobody means anything by it. They have no idea how old he is when they ask and most of them go away feeling better about why he is not walking. He is admittedly one of the biggest kids around and people cannot help but be a little curious. But I have started to get a complex about it. I wonder anew about overgrowth syndromes or other issues that may be making my little guy so big. Most of them have been ruled out, but as is always the case with me, I still worry.

If only I could be sure that we were going to end up with the linebacker and not the tall guy with the cane and braces.

Thrilled with G, but not with myself...

2007-07-30T10:50:00.000-04:00

On Friday, I put G behind his little shopping cart and waited for him to begin fussing. We are supposed to do this every day, and we do, despite his objections. For reasons known only to him, he considers walk-behind toys to be the worst form of punishment there is. We only wish we had discovered this sooner--like before we spent about $75 on different varieties of them. As it is, he can tantrum behind his choice of a shopping cart, a pseudo post office or a small horse.

Well, he became so incensed that he pushed me away, stepped back from the cart and NONCHALANTLY WALKED OVER TO THE COUCH!!!!!! I was so excited I almost fell over! He has taken steps now and then during PT, but it's always been our choice. We let him go in the middle of the room and cheerfully implore him to move his feet. This time, he made the decision to walk and the pride in that was written all over his face. Of course I called everyone I know.

I had a busy day in the house on Friday and made many trips up and down the stairs. Because of this, I neglected to close the safety gates every single time I came up and went down. The one at the bottom of the stairs is kind of temperamental, so I admit that I have been pretty blase about it. Not any more.

A few minutes after one of my trips upstairs and back, I was in another room cleaning when I heard M yelling. I hurried in and it turned out that M was saying, "G is climbing the stairs!" I looked up and indeed, G was about 7 stairs up, grinning over his shoulder at me. I was simultaneously thrilled at this achivement and grateful that my carelessness hadn't resulted in any injury. What could have been makes my stomach churn.

I have decided to focus on the achievement and what this means for his development rather than the near-disaster aspect. But you can be darn sure that I'll be a lot more careful about those gates in the future.

Another boring therapy post

2007-07-23T22:10:00.000-04:00

Our PT, the lovely Ms. Ego, just sent me an email stating that she had contacted Dr. Dashing and that he wanted us to come see him again. She said that he was concerned about some of the things she mentioned on the phone and wanted to see G's supposed weakness for himself. Supposedly, he wants to see us as soon as possible, preferably this week.

Since I have not heard from Dr. Dashing, I am assuming that she is overstating the urgency here. Last week, I emailed him myself with the therapist's concerns and her desire to contact him. I wanted him to be prepared for the heavily accented hurricane that is Ms. Ego. In his reply, he didn't seem thrilled at the prospect of getting a call from her and he definitely wanted to see G again before recommending that we see a physiatrist.

Ever the diplomat, his response to the whole situation was something like "Sure, if she wants me to check him out and you are okay with it, come on in!" He even offered to have someone from the physiatrists group in his building come in a take a look at G during his appointment. So, I guess we will be going there as soon as we can get in. I think I know what he will say--that G has made huge improvements and is likely to catch up to his peers. But a small part of me fears that he will agree with the therapist, that G is not only low-tone, but weak as well. I don't think another visit will lead to an answer though--all doctors have said that a muscle biopsy is the next thing to do, and no one wants to do it at this age. Least of all me.

In a strange reversal of stance, Ms. Ego has decided that not only does she approve of Dr. Dashing as a reputable neurologist, but that he sounds "attractive and charming" even on the phone. I almost told her that Dr. Dashing is both attractive and charming in person as well, but I got a little afraid that she might ask to come to the appointment with us. Once a week is all I can take.

I feel lucky today.

2007-07-19T13:52:00.000-04:00

An online friend, whom I have only gotten to meet once in real life, announced yesterday through a post that her daughter was diagnosed with Rett Syndrome. It was on a forum for developmental delays, so it's a pretty normal occurance for someone to post that their child received a diagnosis. But the raw pain in my friend's words was arresting. She talked about getting the call, seeing who it was on the caller ID and not wanting to pick up the phone but forcing herself to anyway. She wrote how the kindly doctor asked her to sit down and then delivered the news she least wanted to hear.

By the time I finished reading her post, I was weeping. Not only because Rett is not a great diagnosis to get, but that because I have seen this child. I know how beautiful she is, how gentle and kind her mother is. My friend has worried aloud for her baby for months but neither she nor anyone else suspected this. She is also pregnant and has worries for her unborn baby as well. It is too much for one family to bear. I want to help, but I can honestly say that I don't really know how. I have offered her a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold, but I may never have any real idea what she is going though.

I feel like I have spent the past year of G's life trying to give whatever is going on with him a name. Calling it benign hypotonia has just not been enough for me. Maybe I need to stop and count both my lucky stars and my blessings. I certainly have enough of both.

Potty-mouthed in two languages! He's gifted!

2007-07-18T08:11:00.000-04:00

VC: What does the cow say?

G: Mooooo!

VC: What does the dog say?

G: Woof, woof!

VC: What does the duck say?

G: Quack, quack...

VC: What does the sheep say?

G: (at top volume) Shiiiiiit!

I kid you not.

Baby on strike

2007-07-17T10:12:00.000-04:00

G's early intervention PT comes in about a half-hour to work with him. I must admit that I am pretty nervous about this today. She is relentlessly positive, but there is no way she will not notice that he can't or won't do some things he was doing easily before. And what she might say scares me.

I have not been able to get him to walk with one hand held, walk behind a toy or take even one independent step since about 10 days ago. He shakes and cries and reaches desperately for my hand. It's heartbreaking, but it could also be pathetic by design. He knows his mama doesn't like to see him cry and won't push the walking issue too much.

He had a little viral thing this weekend, which may be causing some of the issues, but it seems kinda extreme for a fever to cause non-walking. Perhaps he was just telling us he felt like crap and didn't want to do anything for a while. Today he seems to be much, much better and I hope his antagonism toward walking has gone away.

Time to clean the house and wait for her to come. Always, always the waiting game...

Love your books, hate you

2007-07-12T22:22:00.000-04:00

Through a lot of wrangling and phone calls, I was able to get G. into the hallowed office of Dr. Autism, Foremost Expert on Everything. They had a cancellation and what usually took years ended up taking mere weeks. I was so excited it was incredible. This guy was the big gun in the diagnosis field, if there was something there, he saw it. I had read his books over and over, I quoted him at the dinner table and put many of his theories into practice in our home. Dr. Autism was also supposed to help me fix what was a growing rift between my husband and I about whether or not G needed any extra help at all. I made a deal with F that if Dr. A didn't see anything, my obsession with asd could come to an end.

The morning of the appt. brought miserable weather and a big ice storm was forecast for the afternoon. F was out of town, so everything was up to me. I trekked out to the doctor's office in rush hour traffic, fighting the mounting snow and poor directions. I was suprised by the waiting area--there was nothing in it that indicated it was anything other than a rarely used porch. We spent a few minutes in there and were ushered into the office.

The office was remarkable in that it was a perfectly preserved den from the 70's, complete with paneling and ugly furniture. After waiting with the kids going wild for what seemed like an eternity, the guru finally appeared through what appeared to be a door hidden in the paneling. I was confused at first, but my amazement at the good doctor's outfit overcame my confusion.

Wonder upon wonders, the exalted MD was wearing a MAROON VELOUR TRACK SUIT. My first thought was, where do you even buy something like that? My second thought was, how could you possibly think that was appropriate for the office? My father is a doctor, he was actually in the same class as Dr. Autism. Did their school somehow fail in instruction on sartorial matters? I sincerely doubt that. Even though he occasionally cuts wood in mesh tank tops (yikes!), I can assure you that wearing a velour suit, maroon or otherwise, has never crossed my father's mind. Especially not for public consumption--I think he would rather die than see patients in anything other than a white coat over a suit.

He began asking me questions and I answered kind of haphazardly, being still in a velour-induced daze. He then asked me to start playing with my son. I played for approximately 30 seconds when he informed me that it was all wrong. I tried again and was even more wrong the second time. I started to panic--it was an important test and I was failing. G felt my panic and became alternately clingly and withdrawn. Things got measurably worse after that. M decided to "assist" me and got in the way of every single thing I was trying to do. Then Dr. Autism began critiquing me on how I dealt with M. I was informed I was sorely lacking in that area as well.

After the "play" was over, he launched into a speech about how G's problems were all about me, that when my affect was up, G was normal. When it was down, he lapsed into developmental issues. I became terribly upset, my hero was telling me in effect that I was a terrible mother. He wanted G to see a therapist thousands of miles away, despite the fact that he saw nothing serious going on with him. He asked me to increase G's PT to 3x week for a year. When I balked at the cost, he said the following: "You wouldn't base your decision on money if he needed a liver transplant, would you?" Then he said that if my dad was in his class, he certainly had money enough by now to pay for his grandson's PT. In my mind, I told him off and left the office. In real life I sat there meekly, taking the chastisement of the expert. I practically slunk to the car and drove home in the beginning ice, feeling like a terrible mother all the way.

Against my better judgement, we went back to Dr. Autism a second time. I seriously wondered if I had minterpreted him and wanted F. to be there as well. It didn't go much better. Apparently when you visit him for the first appointment of the day, he just doesn't have time to comb his hair. F was very disappointed by the lack of velour tracksuit, but he was impressed by the unprofessionalism of the doctor's sweatshirt and old lounge pants. The evaluation cost nearly 1500 dollars and Dr. Autism ate couscous during it. He also took several phone calls and left once to use the bathroom.

He kept urging the two of us to tell G to crawl. He had me throw balls across the room and bounce up and down excitedly saying, "Get the ball, G!" F explained that G got a lot of PT for his gross motor delay and that yelling at him to come get the ball might be good in theory, but useless in practice since he was motorically unable to crawl or even get on all fours. Apparently, this statement of fact signaled a bad parental attitude and we received a long lecture on how our actions influence G. We also tried to explain that playing with your child in front of a critic is not a normal thing to do, and therefore our play was not really normal. It all fell on deaf ears.

He said that G appeared to be fine, even gifted in the language area. He also pretty much refused to answer whether or not he saw anything else going on. I understand the reluctance to make a call on babies, but I expected more from someone of his expertise and experience. I put up with critiques and abuse from him and I got nothing in return. But we were too afraid of getting another lecture to pursue an official yes or no, so we left.

As we left, I asked F whether or not Dr. Autism blamed me for G's issues. I waited for him to say that it was all in my head, that I was making too much out of things. "Yeah," he said. "He pretty much is saying that you are not doing well with G and that it has led to issues." He immediately added that he didn't believe it and that we were never going back again.

And we have not been back. But the waiting list for him still grows and grows. I feel sorry for the parents who have bought the books and bought into the dream, only to meet the man behind it. I have no doubt that his theories work and that he is sincere. But you think that a little bedside manner would have come out over the years. After all, he is working with parents whose dreams have died a little, who may never see their child do certain things we all take for granted.

This experience has really made me think about my father and the different choices he has made. My father may not have books or be internationally known, but he listens to people and cares about them. He dresses in a manner that shows his patients that is a professional who can be trusted, who is as meticulous with their health as he is with his ties. He sees people every day who have health problems of their own doing, but he doesn't level blame, only gives advice and encouragement. I am sorry he is not more well-known. He and others like him should be.

Breaking up is hard to do

2007-07-12T21:41:00.000-04:00

I have a rocky relationship with G.'s physical therapist, Ms. Ego. I am beginning to suspect that parting ways might be the smartest thing for all of us, but I am still not sure. As with most breakups, there are very mixed feelings on my part. He has made some wonderful progress since he began seeing her, but I am not sure I can attribute it all to her. He has begun to crawl and take a few independent steps, but he also pretty much hates the sight of her. I want to believe that's because she makes him work, but he is all smiles for his other therapists--who make him work just as hard.

There are also the philosophical differences, which seem to be widening each day. She has expressed misgivings about doctors in general, a notion that doesn't sit well with me, a doctor's daughter. She has indicated that she believes G's neuro is not going a good job with him. I emphatically disagree with this and so does my husband. In fact, our neuro (whom I will call Dr. Dashing) is highly regarded by everybody. I know, I have asked doctor after doctor which neuro they would recommend and Dr. Dashing comes up every time.

Things came to a head a few weeks ago when she sent me an email telling me that perhaps we should take a break during the month of July. Her reasons were as follows: G did not wear his shoes often enough, we were more inclined to listen to EI and that I was confused about the advice we had gotten from various doctors. Virtually every word in the email came as a complete surprise to me. Because we are dealing with an English barrier along with everything else, I called her, sure that she didn't mean exactly what she had written.

Well, she did mean it all and she was not shy about reiterating it all over the phone. In fact, she added more and more things about me that bothered her. I was overly negative, G. cried during therapy because of me, he would be walking now if only I made him wear his orthotics more often, I am just not as encouraging as I could be--the litany went on and on. It was eerily reminiscent of my meetings with Dr. Autism, Foremost Expert on Everything.

I got pretty hot under the collar during all of this, and I think she was pretty surprised that I defended myself as strenuously as I did. Perhaps she thought that a mother who once cried during a PT session wasn't made of much. Actually, I surprised myself since I had been such a shrinking violet with Dr. Autism. In the end, I told her exactly where she had me wrong and thought that G shouldn't be punished for a misunderstanding between his mama and his PT. We agreed to move forward and leave his schedule as it is now.

By the time I got off the phone, I was livid and frankly sorry that I had not said some things that were on the tip of my tongue. We are paying you over $100/hr for you to insult us and make us feel like we are lucky for you to keep us on as clients? We work very hard on home therapy and it was pretty insulting to be told that we could not follow directions. Not only that, but I cannot and will not stroke your ego every time you feel that Early Intervention is getting the upper hand. Your insecurities are not my problem, and they certainly are not my son's. In the interest of civility, however, these comments all remained unsaid.

My sweet F volunteered to do PT with G the next week. I thought I could be civil or perhaps even friendly, but the anger rising in me as we opened the door assured me that leaving was the safer option. At the end of the session, she gave me the usual gloom and doom forecast, to which I responded with the most impartial "Um...Hmmm..." I could manage. I was ready to just forget about it and move on when she delivered her parting shot. The next patient had come in, a baby with torticollis and the corresponding helmet. She picks him up and as she takes him into the therapy room she calls over her shoulder to me, "This little guy is making so much progress...and he NEVER cries during therapy."

This week's rumble was over whether or not G needs to see a physical medicine specialist and who should determine that. She told me a story of a little guy (just like G!) who was having trouble crawling and pulling up. The parents listened to her (unlike us) and took him to a physical medicine guy. Turns out he has a connective tissue disease and cannot do much PT without doing harm to his joints. I made my face as impassive as possible and said, "Did he have Ehlers-Danlos? We have tested for that with the neuro." She expressed surprise that I knew the name of the disease but said her main point was to say that without a physiatrist, you will not get the right diagnosis. I reminded her that G has had a pretty full genetic workup. Most of the big guns are off the table. She once again gave her opinion of Dr. Dashing. Another impasse...

Don't get me wrong here. I want to do what's best for G and I don't have any particular problem with him seeing another kind of specialist. I do have a problem with her telling me that seeing a developmental pediatrician was "stupid" and that I am hurting G by not getting him to see a certain doctor with whom she seems to be in cahoots.

Boy, this post has certainly turned into a bitch session. I just wish I knew what to do in this situation. I think that Ms. Ego is a great therapist, but she may not be the right one for our family. It is just so hard to know which way to turn.

The Next Big Thing

2007-07-10T10:21:00.000-04:00

M: Can we go to Sheep World?

VC: You mean Sea World?

M: No, Sheep World. I want to see the sheep they have there...and the water park.

Honesty--the best policy.

2007-07-03T12:38:00.000-04:00

M: I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

VC: Are you going to eat it?

M: No, actually I'm not because I really want raisins.

Cut to scene of mother banging her head on the table...

No, it's pronounced EYE-gor...

2007-07-02T22:08:00.000-04:00

M. has become quite interested lately about how girls are different from boys. To put it bluntly, she wonders why she doesn't have that fascinating appendage G. has. We have been preparing for this for some time. Our attitude has been that we are both children of the 70's, that we read Where Did I Come From? with our parents and did not die of shame. [Okay, time for the truth. My mother would have NEVER been able to buy or borrow a book with cartoonish illustrations of fat naked people (!!), no matter how many other mothers were doing it. And read it to us? Are you kidding? She let our Montessori school do it for her.] Anyway, we both look upon this as a phase that will pass.

We have tried to remain natural about the topic, we have consulted books, and we have gamely answered her questions in public restrooms. The books tell you not to get embarrassed or stern and to do your best not to laugh. We have had trouble with the straight face portion of this advice--especially when she composed a song on the subject that featured the words "spiky" and "prickly."

M. also insists on using the French pronunciation of the word. Because of years of Catholic schooling, I have trouble saying the word no matter what the language. Notice how I have refrained thus far from typing it, just in case someone in my family might read this. I have never even considered how it should be pronounced in French because I truly fail to see when I would be talking about this subject with any of F.'s relatives.

Our relaxed, natural plan backfired recently on the escalator at Nordstrom. She was chattering happily away about her brother's anatomy when I pointed out that perhaps this was not the best time to talk about penises. She instantly corrected me in a voice just a few decibels shy of a DC-10: "Mama, it's pronounced PEN-is, not PEEN-is!"

I stand corrected.

It's right next to the honeydude...

2007-07-02T22:03:00.000-04:00

At the museum:

F.: Look at that! Do you see the little camel?

M: Where? What is it?

F.: Right there, do you see it?

M.: I see the camelope, I see it!

Hello from rock bottom...

2007-06-28T14:26:00.001-04:00

As you can tell by the oh-so-chipper title, things are not going so well around here. G. has not been pointing for the past several weeks. Not pointing is the sine qua non of red flags, so I am beside myself. I keep asking him totally inane questions like, "Where are the bananas? Show Mama the bananas!" and I keep getting the same response--a look at the bananas, but nothing else. When I think about where he was a few months ago, it's pretty frightening.

When he pointed on time and with relish, I was thrilled. I thought that it was the big sign I needed that he was going to be okay, if a late walker. Everyone assured me that when kids pointed, they did okay. Now it turns out that pointing certainly can be lost along with other skills. This is quite cruel, since it allows you to get your hopes up so high.

I hate being so negative, since I know he can sense how I am feeling. He sucks up my fear like a little sponge, which cannot be good for him. Perhaps he is just working on all his other new skills--crawling, cruising and hi-fives--and will come back to pointing soon. It just doesn't seem like the kind of thing you drop though.

So, do you still think I am crazy?

2007-06-26T21:35:00.000-04:00

I had a good PT session today with G. and our EI therapist. He pretty much did what he was supposed to do, although he grumbled through almost everything. His whining while crawling up the stairs was particularly impressive. She brought over a laminated book that EI had made of our trips with the BB program. No matter how many times she tried, he was unable to identify me as his mama. He got Papa right, of course.

I am getting this rather unnerving feeling though that EI is becoming more concerned as I become more calm about his development. The PT mentioned transitioning to the school system for help when G. turns three and what that entails. I kind of half-listened at first, since he is just over a year old and we may not even be living here when he is three.

Then it hit me--she thinks he'll need therapy on a more long-term basis. I questioned her about it, and she said it was just so hard to tell at this age how long of a proposition therapy was likely to be. She mentioned that kids with gross motor issues often have problems later with writing or reading. Great...

I also brought up the subject of asd/Asperger's once again. In the past, I have been dismissed with statements about how social he is, how verbal he is and how he is doing well in every other area except gross motor. Today she just was not as reassuring and it made me worry. She also mentioned wanting to see the dev. ped.'s report, to see what she thought. Maybe she is just tired of me wanting so much assurance that he is okay. Maybe she just wishes that I would shut up and could barely get the professional courtesy together to answer my questions for the umpteenth time. If she has serious concerns, I just want her to tell me.

I want G. to be totally "normal," whatever that is, but if we end up with a diagnosis of some sort, I want to get him any help he needs. And I want that help to start as soon as possible.

Who's your Mama?

2007-06-25T08:28:00.000-04:00

I have been feeling soooo much better about G.'s development lately, but there are still things that worry me. My biggest concern is one that strikes right to my heart--G.'s rare use of my name. At this age, M. was annoying with her constant "Mama, Mama!" She would call me to her room to get her out of the crib, she would call me to look at her when she had done something good (or spectacularly naughty) or just when she wanted a hug.

G. is thrilled when his Papa comes home--he is treated like a rock star with a massive display of bouncing and yelling. G. says "Papa" several times a day under different circumstances. He also has his own version of M.'s name, which is rather long for a 14 month old. Heck, it's long for M. herself. He will ask for her occasionally.

G. is certainly happy to see me, but still doesn't break out my name when I appear. Worse, he frequently calls me Papa. I can't understand why this would persist and it worries me. Does he not know my name? He can say strawberry and bleuet, but not mama?

I was playing with him yesterday, trying to get him to get him to touch my nose and then M.'s nose. He kept going for her nose, not distinguishing between the two names. I stopped because it really got me upset.

I have no idea of the significance of this issue. I have heard that babies later diagnosed with Asperger's tend to use people's names later than other words. But he does name his father and sister. I have no idea what this all means, but it makes my heart hang heavy with worry.

Makes me wanna buy a pegboard...

2007-06-22T14:26:00.000-04:00

G. had his latest assessment by the dev. ped. yesterday. It went pretty well--he chatted up a storm, was able to ID four pictures on her flash cards and managed to put a circle into the world's easiest puzzle.

We did hit a snag when it came to the peg board. He pulled one peg out of the hole just fine. He ran his fingers over the holes. He got soooo close to putting a peg into the hole, which would have been a big developmental triumph. I mean, like gifted or something. We were there with those pegs for what must have been 15 minutes out of a one hour appointment.

The whole thing was like watching golf, or even bowling. Why does every spectator--especially those of the male persuasion--think that body movement will aid the ball in reaching the hole? I used to love watching pro-bowling as a child (give me a break, it was Indiana and we had no cable) and it never ceased to amuse me how the professionals would contort themselves while watching the ball careen toward the pins. The doc and I were leaning from side to side, trying to mentally get that peg into the hole. When that didn't work, we resorted to pantomiming with our hands. Every time he didn't quite get it, we would groan. How sad is that?

It was even sadder that in my zeal to demo the proper use of the pegboard, I pushed one in a little too hard. G. couldn't get it out, M. couldn't get it out and neither could I. When we left, the doctor was energetically pulling on the peg, muttering to herself. Hope we don't get billed for that.

The upshot of the appointment was that he is definitely delayed in gross motor but perhaps not as much as before. He has good fine motor skills but was on the lower end of normal for visual-motor skills. Tell me doc, was it the pegs? Give him another chance!!! I was thrilled with his verbal/social results. No final report yet, but she placed him at 18 months. That is great since he is 14 months in a few days. Go Big G.! She was a little cagey about what she called a "skill imbalance", but that may have just been in my head. Of course, M. was talking in complete sentences at 16 months (in both French and English) but was unable to walk. That sounds like unbalanced skills to me...

The dev. ped. did admit that as soon as she saw him, the words "overgrowth syndrome" crossed her mind. How could they not? He is pretty darn big. One mom on the playground actually exclaimed "Holy Mother!" when I gave his age. The last time I went to the neuro's office, the doc greeted me with "Oh, I didn't know you had a third child. Where is G?" I said, "This is G!" He must have added 4 inches in height since the developmental ped. last saw him. So, he is kinda big. But she said he doesn't seem to fit the phenotype of any of the overgrowth syndromes as of yet and he is not delayed in the usual areas. She thinks he is just going to be a big guy.

Well, I think all of this giddiness about his speech has made my writing a little more run-on than usual. But hey, the doc said the A-word was off the table as far as she was concerned. I think that's cause for giddiness and a few run-ons, don't you?

So, your four years at school taught you nothing?

2007-06-19T14:28:00.000-04:00

I am ashamed to admit that the following opinion was expressed by a woman who graduated from my alma mater in our alumni magazine:

JPandS states that the alarming increase in reported rates of autism and other neurological disorders in children not only stopped, but actually dropped sharply--by as much as 35 percent.

I worked hard to get into that school and I worked hard while I was there. It scares me that people like this person are walking around with the same degree I have.

I also was not impressed with my university's reply. The doctor they quoted did a good job of discussing the differences between ethyl and methyl mercury, but there was no mention of the blatant falsehood about decreasing numbers.

I have never contacted my alumni mag, but this has made me mad enough to start.

I guess that is logical, now that you mention it...

2007-05-21T15:29:00.000-04:00

Overheard at playground:

M: My papa works in an office. He's an officer.

Crusin'

2007-05-21T15:07:00.000-04:00

G. is not ready to crawl, but boy is he ready to walk! He is so happy when upright, it's amazing. Today we went to a huge playground with lots of low equipment. The perfect size for our giant-size toddler. He cruised around a little table, growing more confident by the minute. He played the drums, he imitated another little boy playing with a stick. He loved being around the big kids and was beaming from ear to ear. He pulled himself down a slide and laughed out loud, clapping his hands.

While we were eating lunch, he showed me a bird and said "bird!" emphatically. He said hello to lots of kids and was very interested in what they were doing. As we were leaving, he was calling out, "Bye-bye!" It was a hugely social day for him and a lot of fun for all of us.

I love to see him like this--happy and engaged. It makes me feel that things will turn out okay, that regression is not likely in his case. I just wish I could remember that feeling late at night when I am alone with my thoughts. He is growing into such a beautiful, charming little guy. I can't imagine what I would do if it all went away.

Stewing in ignorance, then passing it along

2007-05-16T14:36:00.000-04:00

I started reading a support board for a specific condition about 9 months ago. This was during a time when I was at my lowest, when I was sure that my little monkey would never be normal. That he wouldn't talk or walk or even acknowledge his family. It felt good to get my fears out there, to have them be acknowledged by others. G. has improved greatly, though the whole walking question is still up in the air. As his little personality emerges more and more, I find myself really disgusted by the board and the people, mostly women, who frequent it.

There are a few people on said board that I would consider educated and reasonable. They examine the research closely, question their doctors and take advice with a grain of salt. The rest are guilty of faulty logic, horrendous spelling, dubious advice and intense competition. Unfortunately, the latter group posts about ten times as much as the former.

Now and then I respond, or even start topics, but I would consider myself primarily a lurker. The few times I have posted my skepticism of a treatment plan or a diagnosis, I have been dismissed or drowned out. When I informed a mother that secretin was proven to be useless and that her child's "doctor" was most likely trying to sell off his stockpile, she responded with, "Yeah, that's probably true. But I still feel like it's worth trying."

Example: Today a mom posted that she was considering giving her 20 month old a new multivitamin. She asked for advice and linked to a description of the vitamin. It had 278% of the RDA for vitamin A. It was almost 1.5 times the upper limit value. The first two posters responded with some version of "Sounds great! Give it a try and let me know how it goes!" I waited for someone with more sense to jump in. Dead silence. Finally, I decided to warn her about the vitamin A, adding several links to reputable sites talking about the dangers of too much vitamin A. Within minutes, someone else posted that the vitamin looked like a great choice. She then added that her doctor insists that she keep the kids' vitamins to the RDA. So she then recommended that the original poster do what she does--seek the advice of a DAN! doctor and then lie to the pediatrician. Nice... She also said she was only a layperson, but that it was "well-known" that kids like theirs did not absorb vitamins correctly, so one must overdose. Oh, the horror.

Why are we as mothers willing to write off the opinion of trained professionals in order to follow the advice of some anonymous person on the internet? Why will we pay $1000 for an HBOT treatment but refuse to pony up the $300 for a Fragile X test? There are kids on that board that undoubtedly have genetic syndromes, but their parents are too caught up in vaccines to consider genetics. I have heard things that made me want to weep--such as the parents who were valiantly trying to inhibit their child's early reading skills because they were concerned he was hyperlexic.

I think I am done with that board. Done with all the competition about whose child is highest or lowest functioning. Did you know that mothers could argue about whose child talked less or smeared feces more? Or that mothers could verbally attack a mother of two special needs kids who disagreed with the notion that their issues were worse than a terminal illness? I am done with all the talk of aluminum poisoning and the evils of casein. I am too weary of hearing how hard things are, how doing less than 40 hours a week of therapy means you are a neglectful mother and that every last thing your child does should be scrutinized in case it turns out to be a stim.

At this point, I don't even think that G. has the issues I thought he did. Even if he does, I refuse to stew with these people. I will head back to my hypotonia board, where the moms are gentle, kind and encouraging. Every success is celebrated and the atmosphere is very hopeful. And hypotonia is generally spelled correctly. I just worry that no one will be watching the store when the skeptics leave.

Wanna get some fries?

2007-03-01T15:42:00.000-05:00

A while ago I saw a post on Dooce giving would-be bloggers topics to write about. These topics would supposedly help you avoid having a terribly boring blog. Since my life has been less-than-exiting lately, I thought I would give one of them a whirl.

The worst date I ever had

In my case, it's just too difficult to pick just one from a list of top-rate contenders. I'll just describe a few. Most of them happened in college, back when some of my decisions were made by Jim Beam. The names have been hidden to protect those involved. And also because I can't remember some of the names...

My Mercifully Short Bad Date
I went to a "mystery date" party hosted by my sorority in college. My mystery date turned out to be someone I had never met on campus. He was fairly nice and rumor had it that he was a trust fund kid. He and I didn't hate each other, but there were no real sparks. Anyway, about 1 hour into the party he said he wanted some french fries. He asked me if I wanted to walk to Wendy's. Well, it was about 11:30 at night and Wendy's was about a mile away. This was in a big urban area and it would not have been a really safe walk. So, I declined. I guess I expected him to stay--this was the chivalrous South after all. But the french fry yen won out. He left and I never saw him again.

My Hannibal Lecter Bad Date
I cannot resist the temptation to reveal his name, only because it should have been a red flag. His name was Jonas, a fact made worse by the mid-'90's popularity of the Weezer song "My Name is Jonas." He picked me up at the house and my housemother could barely surpress her giggles. Red flag two. This was not a blind date, mind you. I can only plead temporary insanity. After a dinner spent silently praying that no one I knew would see me, we left to visit an Irish pub. While he was in the bathroom, the bartender leaned over to me and said, "You can do better than that. Do you want me to call you a cab?" Red flag three! Finally, on the way home Jonas suggested that we go to his room to see his collection of animal skulls. Oh My God, red flag! He pointed out that I was gripping the door handle so hard that my knuckles were white. His parting words were, "You look scared...does this mean I can't kiss you?" Uh, yeah.

My Officer Friendly Bad Date
I went out once with a NY State Trooper. The date wasn't too bad, but not great. We were just not suited for one another at all. For example, he was about 15 years older than me with three kids. He spent the majority of the evening discussing his ex and how she did not deserve everything he had done for her. Charming... At the end of the date, we ended up in a park which had been closed for hours. I would have objected sooner, but I thought we had been heading back to my place. I said that I didn't think it was such a good idea, that maybe it wasn't safe. He reaches over to the glove compartment and opens it. "Oh, it's okay," he says. "I have my gun. It's always loaded."

My Anxiety-Ridden Mess of a Bad Date
One of my ex-boyfriend's friends asked me out to see a play and get dinner. I was really happy to be going on a more grown-up date since my ex's taste ran more to wings and beer. He approved of the date, even encouraged it, which surprised me. Maybe it shouldn't have. S. was a reasonably cool guy who rode a motorcycle and got good grades. From the moment the play started, I knew I was in for a long night. Everyone in the play was naked through the entire production. It was kinda boring after a while, but my date was so red I could feel the heat coming off him. He apologized for bringing me to such smut and we went to dinner. I ordered something and he ordered an entree to go. I looked at him quizzically and he said that he could not eat in front of other people, that he even took medication for his issue. But I was to take my time and not rush on his account. Check, please!

My Shallow-End-of-the-Gene-Pool Bad Date
During this horror of an expensive Italian dinner, my date confessed that his family had some issues. I thought alcoholism, major illness, bankruptcy. He said his mother hadn't left the house in over 12 years, mainly because of paranoia and then extreme overweight. Then he mentioned that his brother never wore short sleeves or shorts because he was afraid to reveal any skin. Sometimes he wore a hat and a bandanna as well so that only a sliver of his face was visible. He frequently played basketball dressed that way. Then he discussed how his father had been seeing a shrink for years, but no real diagnosis. I was done before the entree came.

A disjointed Christmas

2006-12-25T15:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday DH had the bright idea to Rollerblade to the grocery store to buy a copy of the Post. Well, he returned home briefly with a bandage on his hand and plans to go to the emergency room. He said he had dislocated his finger in a fall. I was baking a cake with Pouce and I needed a few minutes to get some food together for Chunky Monkey before we could leave. He insisted he could not wait. He didn't tell me how bad it was and I wondered why a dislocated finger required such urgency. He ended up driving himself because he thought he might be there all day.

It did take all day, mainly because he had cut his finger DOWN TO THE BONE! I mean, the bone was visible! And I let him drive himself...I will accept my award for Wife of the Year any day now. He got an IV antibiotic and multiple X-rays.

I was happy he was eventually okay, though we are on infection watch now. He'll be showering with a bag on his hand for the time being, but he should regain full use of everything. He's a lucky guy. Must have been because it happened on Christmas Eve.

M's Christmas Plan

2006-12-24T14:58:00.000-05:00

M. is really excited about Christmas this year. She has watched pretty much every special that Noggin has to offer and I have suffered through multiple readings of Rooftop Santa. Let me tell you, that title is worth every bit of the 25 cents the Embassy spent for it. We have also been reading The Night Before Christmas. She loves the story, but she looks a little wary of Santa every time we read it.

We went to see Santa at the mall and M. would not even approach his chair. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. G. agreed to be placed on Santa's lap, and it looked like things were going to go well for a quick photo. He tried to grab Santa's beard and was happy being jostled on his lap. Then as soon as I called his name to get his attention, he realized just how far away I was. His bottom lip quivered and the sobbing began. M. took this as all the evidence she needed that Santa was very, very scary.

Well, today she announced that it was Christmas Eve and she was going to get presents tonight. "Santa is gonna come and leave me presents," she said. I said yes, he certainly was. She thought a moment and said, "And I'm gonna wear my dinosaur costume and scare him when he comes."

Merry Christmas, Santa. Love, M.

Twice a month is all you need

2006-12-17T14:41:00.000-05:00

We met with G's therapist, the social worker and the case manager this week for his 6 month review. It went as expected, with the recommendation that his physical therapy be reduced to twice a month. They really feel that he is doing well enough that he will be weaned off therapy soon. I think they mean that I will be weaned off therapy soon. The therapist and social worker will switch off weeks so I am never alone for a week.

Early Intervention is great and all, but I kind of wish they would stop treating me like a nut. Why does every session have to feature questions on how my medication is working for me? They insist that it is way too early to tell if he has asd, but they always tell me just as emphatically that he DOES NOT SHOW ANY SIGNS OF BEING ON THE SPECTRUM!!! You can't tell if he is, but you can be sure that he isn't? That doesn't make sense to me.

I should be ecstatic about this. I mean, he babbles all the time (it's even begun to get annoying), he rolls over well and he bangs toys with the best of 'em. What do I have to worry about? Why can't I seem to let things go? It's very tiring watching his every move for the next "sign."

I keep telling myself that when he crawls, says his first word and points (that's the biggie) that I will stop worrying about him. I mentioned this to my father and he was quiet on the phone. Then he said, "You'll be worrying about him when he's 35 with his own children." Spoken like a man with 4 kids of his own.

Precocious...and obnoxious!!!

2006-09-11T14:52:00.000-04:00

This morning our sweet little M. was playing with a Pokemon superball that I am sure was stolen from some hapless child on the playground. I watch her like a hawk when she is with the ball, because small rubber balls are right below balloons on the list of things that will get you placed on the Bad Mother Hall of Fame.

She starts putting it near her lips, which causes me to immediately warn her not to put it in her mouth. Of course she hesitates like a nanosecond before putting it into her mouth. I warn her that if she does it again, the ball is going away for good. She smiles sweetly and shoves it into her mouth. I yell, pry it out of her little mouth and throw it in the trash. Adios, Pokemon! She starts sobbing that she wants the ball. Sorry, I say. She stamps her little foot, looks up at me with a venomous expression and says, "I hate you!"

Wow, pretty impressive for a two and a half year old! As I put her in the Naughty Chair (yes, we have seen Supernanny) she was saying, "It's not fair!!!" over and over. What the hell are we going to do when she is a teenager?

Crikey, that's sad news...

2006-09-04T16:01:00.000-04:00

I was so upset to get up this morning and find out that Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray in a freak diving accident. I really liked him a lot, and it was so sad to think of his wife and two young kids. What are they going through right now? It made me think of trying to explain something like that to our daughter. I am sure she would ask every single day where so and so was. It would kill me to hear that.

Because he spent so much time doing daring and risky things, I am sure gave all of those close to him a sense of invincibility. Surely a man who can wrestle crocodiles can handle anything! What a horrible surprise to find out that he was human after all.

Who needs therapy?

2006-09-03T15:54:00.000-04:00

After a brief period of feeling better, I have sunk down into the dumps again. I am not really sure what sets things off, what makes me convinced that things are not okay and that they never will be. But I look at my beautiful baby and this little gnawing feeling starts in my stomach. It makes me want to wring my hands just to have some physical release of the overwhelming despair. I honestly thought that I have been depressed or anxious before. Now I know that the real thing is much more sinister and difficult to snap out of.

On Thursday I felt so terrible that I had to call my father sobbing once again about Graham and his behavior. He is so calming with his "doctor" voice honed through 30 some-odd years of practice. His message, however, does not really calm me. He knows that I could be right, that our lovely son may never interact with us normally. So he has to hedge his bets rather than tell me that of course everything will be okay. He asks me if I have talked to the therapist lately, what the neurologist found during his exam and slowly I start to be able to function. I feel better momentarily, if even because I have released all kinds of chemicals through my flood of tears, but soon the gnawing begins again.

Part of the despair is actually stress. Stress that I will not be the kind of mother that drags her child kicking and screaming out of the throes of autism. That my boy who loves windows will always love them, that he will not end up in a mainstream school ahead of grade level as Patricia Stacey's son did. Stress that something I did while pregnant or even before caused our son to develop more slowly. Stress that we will wait and wait and wait for treatment while our son slowly slips into his own world.

I am hoping and praying that Floortime will be our salvation, but I am worried that I will simply be too lazy to do as many hours as they say you need to do. Can I really do 6 hours a day of handing toys to Graham? Will I slowly lose my mind? Will I sacrifice his eventual recovery to read a book or go to a movie?

I can hear my husband's voice in my head right now that all of this is premature, that no one has diagnosed our son with anything. He even scores okay on the Denver II! But a mother knows... I never really understood that trite saying until now. I just wish I didn't.

I'm Josh Rales, and I can save the world!!!

2006-08-17T11:07:00.000-04:00

This by no means a political blog, but I just have to comment on this guy running for senator here in MD. His name is Josh Rales, and he has the most unbelievable commercials. Unbelievable in the sense that they are totally full of crap. In one, he promises to improve the schools, lower student-teacher ratios and raise teacher pay. In another he promises to both reduce our dependence on foreign oil and pull our troops out of Iraq. I can't wait for the one where he promises to find a cure for male pattern baldness and to put a stop to telemarketers.

The commercials and the whole campaign seem so childish to me. It's like watching a kid running for jr. high president who promises that detention will be abolished and that pizza will be on the menu every day in the lunchroom

You go, Josh Rales! But don't count on my vote.

I love him, no matter what you say!

2006-08-14T22:34:00.000-04:00

Today I found a post on a discussion group about eye contact and how worrisome it was when your baby did not gaze at you for hours like all the books said he would. I recognized myself a few months ago in these freaked out mothers and I wanted to warn them away from reading too much into any one thing.

I described my whole ordeal, including my obsession with my son having autism and my possible PPD. I talked about how our son had to endure an MRI and blood work. I shared how he has mild delays that could amount to someting or nothing at all. I talked about my frustration at not knowing what the future will bring for my son. My aim was to illustrate how I have ruined my baby's first few months and to help others avoid the same fate by STAYING OFF THE INTERNET.

The web is full of horrible neurological diseases and random lists of symptoms for autism. My personal favorites are the sites that detail how a parent was certain his or her child was autistic from a very early age. I took them as gospel at first, then I noticed that some of them were kinda unreliable. One person would say that they knew absolutely when their child would stiffen when picked up and the other would say that his epiphany came when the child went limp when picked up. Hmmm...It's so easy to lose perspective and to see your child in a list of so-called red flags. Most days I log off convinced that I myself have some sort of syndrome. Or a brain tumor.

I was not looking for sympathy, I was just putting my two cents in about how a little worry about your child's development can turn into a ginormous problem. Well, I certainly did not get much sympathy. One poster accused me of not loving my child and only wanting a perfect baby. She ranted that I was giving up on him way too soon and that if I didn't love him unconditionally, who would? Then she recommended some odd self-help book about intellectual learning through kinetic pursuits.

What the hell did I do to inspire such a diatribe? It's amazing to me how critical mothers are of one another, no matter how little they know of a situation. I lurk on an ASD support board and all of the moms there are really inspirational. They work so hard to get everything their kids deserve. Yet they take the time to fire shots off at people who don't believe that vaccines cause autism or who don't follow the GFCF diet.

I have been guilty of this many times, I will add. I don't really have much respect for moms who blindly follow Dr. Sears and his love of the family bed. Our kids always sleep in their own rooms and beds and if we have anything to say about it, they always will. I also find it soooo much easier when we adhere to a pretty strict schedule of naps and meals and walks. We truly believe that kids do better when they know what is coming. So, when my friend who will NOT follow any sort of a schedule gripes about how her son will not nap at all, I have little sympathy. In fact, I notice a certain smugness in my heart that I just don't like. Maybe G. is here to teach me that I have nothing to be smug about, that I may very well be that mother with kids who won't sleep or who destroy the grocery store while everyone stares.

Entering the blogosphere...

2006-08-14T18:42:00.000-04:00

I have no idea why I am introducing myself, since I sincerely hope that no one will ever read this blog. I am a stay at home mom with a 2 1/2 year old daughter and a four month old son. This blog is meant to serve as a form of therapy for me, not to regale the bored public with accounts of poo-poo diapers and food refusal. Not that I couldn't provide both if asked...

Who am I? Well, I am 33 years old and have been married for 4 years (anniversary was last week). I love dogs, frogs and Jane Austen, especially Persuasion. I can live without cats, the leggings-under-miniskirt look and moms who flaunt organic crackers at the playground. I loathe spiders, beets and Ann Coulter. I like to think that I learned something as an English major at a top 20 university, but I am sure my grammar is lacking from time to time. I have a degree in graphic design and photography that I have never really used. Okay, I do make some kick-ass scrapbook pages, but I guess that doesn't really count. I speak some French and understand a lot more than I can say, but you'd have to ask my in-laws whether that statement is really true.

That's all I can say about me right now. It's kind of hard to define yourself when you have to keep one ear trained on the door at all times--naptime is prime time for mutiny!