Amazing is often my early AM hours. Usually Miles will steal into my room. If my husband hasn't come to bed yet (he's a night owl) Miles will sleep on his side and find his own comfy spot. But if it's after 6 am or so and the bed is fully occupied he slips beside me and will whisper "snuggle" to me. This morning he was drowsy and heavy lidded, not saying a word as he rested his head on my chest, just under my chin. His warm breath was on my neck as he wrapped an arm and a leg around me and I just rested there, holding him tight and feeling perfectly in love with him. I looked at his long lashes and his perfect pouty lips, and I couldn't remember a moment of him shrieking, tearing at his skin until he bled and then tearing some more. I couldn't remember him trying to hurt his siblings, or me, or breaking things because he could. I just see that baby they handed me, while his twin waited to be born, and I love him so much.
Infuriating usually pops up AROUND breakfast time. For whatever reason, despite his obvious DESIRE to eat, being told to eat often provokes rage. I've tried "suggesting". I've tried just mentioning there was food to other people. There is screaming, there is stomping. Sometimes he throws his food under the table (delightful). Today he apparently threw Cocoa Pebbles all over my dining room.
HAVE YOU EVER FUCKING HAD TO CLEAN UP COCOA PEBBLES THAT HAVE BEEN TOSSED HITHER AND YON?
I have. About 10:42 this morning. I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say it's over.
Fucking vile would be a range of topics in the world of Autism Mom world. It's not stuff we like to talk about, and I'm not sure why. I've written about trying potty training. Our dislike of poop and pee being all over our house is generally why it gets discarded. We've failed again so that means we've got 12 year olds in diapers. We have 12 year olds who are HEADLONG INTO PUBERTY in diapers.
That is exactly as gross as you think it is.
I don't think of it as gross, really, as I'm doing what needs to be done. I think of it as a job that must happen and I must do it. These are my children and they need this help from me, the person who brought them into the world and didn't get their DNA quite right somehow. (No I don't blame me, well maybe I do because DNA but that's a different post). What I know is they need me to help them, and so no matter how gross what I have to deal with is - I divide it into the sub-parts of this job and I get it done. What are the sub-parts?
- Prep
- Get diapers
- Get wipes
- Get an extra pair of shorts (or 2)
- Get a bag for the dirty diapers
- Open the bathroom door so you don't have to touch it with your hands (because if you have poop all over your hands omg you can't get that fucking door open I promise you)
- Get down the box of butt creams (yep)
- Bring in child
- Assess situation - wet or muddy?
- Clean as necessary
- Assess skin condition
- If needed refer to contents of butt creams and apply what is needed
- If not needed clean appropriately
- Put dirty diapers and wipes in bag. A walmart bag specifically
- Put clean shorts on child if necessary (usually is)
- Tie up bag and take to top of stairs so it can be carried away
- Wash hands for an eternity. Then wash them again. Then use hand sanitizer. Sniff hands. Wash again if necessary.
- Give child shorts to put on
- Carry bag away and throw it in the garage trash can
- Lather, rinse, repeat ad infinitum
It becomes vile because...they are 12. They poop like men. They are anatomically becoming men. You ever tried to clean poop out of pubic hair? IT ISN'T FUCKING EASY FOLKS.
It's noon now, and I will most likely experience two of those three feelings again before I walk out the door for my day. People will say things such as "I don't now how you do it." To which I'll just always tell you the same thing.
I don't have any fucking choice.
The coffee thief himself, surfing Youtube this morning.
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