avoiding the real world

another stupid love story

i was the ink in your pen

and you built me with every letter.

a single word and i could stand alone.

a sentence and i was complete.

but you added another, and another, and another

about someone i’d know all too well.

someone i’d spend night after night trying to forget.

why would you bind us line by line?

knowing that we’d never stay together in the end.

knowing that this poem would never satisfy you

or be a story anyone would want to read?

one single word and i could stand alone.

a sentence and i was complete.

a paragraph and i fell apart.

-a tale i never wanted to be a part of.

another stupid love story

that no one gives a damn about.

-especially me

your ill fated, heart broken, girl character

who would have been better off on her own.

 

I recently discovered poetry I wrote for a collection in college.  I think, at best, I was a mediocre poet lol.  I tried but could never really say exactly what I wanted to say.   It is so interesting to read these poems 10 years later.  My inspiration for this poem is now, my husband.  🙂  I guess it wasn’t a stupid love story after all haha.

I’m posting this because I’m avoiding real life.  Today was difficult. My son may have autism.  I can finally type it.  I have a million thoughts, a million feelings and I just stare at my screen and checkout.  I called my parents and I cried.  I thought about 5 hours ago and 5 years from now in a single thought.  I don’t really know what to feel or think.  I think I am going to postpone the thoughts for tonight and have a glass of woodbridge chardonnay.  (yes, I’m back on Chardonnay Charles- I’m sorry, it is just better- I don’t care if that makes me an old lady lol)

Maybe in the next few weeks I’ll have a real post about all this and stop avoiding it.  Maybe I won’t …and you’ll get to enjoy more 10 year old, mediocre poetry.  Until next time…

He is perfect.

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Last week I took my son to a local organization for a screening of his behavioral issues.  We were to tell him it was a fun special school where he would go play games.  He was excited to go and he did really well– at least in my opinion.  He hopped on one leg and balanced, did vision and hearing tests, identified objects, drew a circle and scribbled other things, answered questions, etc.  I watched my sweet boy having so much fun and a single tear fell down my cheek.  Then another and another.  I felt silly… but I loved watching him be happy.  I also felt so sad because I knew they were just observing him to see if he had developmental delays.

Long story shot, they think he shows signs of being on the autism spectrum.  He has to go for another long observation.  I heard the words come out of the PhD, whatever his official title is  and couldn’t breathe.  I felt such anger.  I was mad at him for labeling my son.  I was mad at him for thinking anything was different about him.  I was mad at him for saying that social skills could be challenging for him.  I was just mad.  My son was and is perfect.  As soon as he said the words I felt the same way I’d felt nearly 11 years before when my friend called to tell me that one of my best friends had passed unexpectedly.  I threw the phone in anger.  I couldn’t bear to hear another word.  The words seared my face.  Then the tears took over.  I thought about that because I was feeling the exact same way — but no one had died.

Thinking about it…I realized that something did die.  The plans I had for my son.  The ones I made when I delivered him.  These words… autism spectrum… suddenly meant that my son couldn’t have everything I wanted for him …or be who I imagined he would be.  I started to grieve.  I was so sad.  I had a panic attack in front of the observers and excused myself to the bathroom.  I felt so much pain.

I’ve thought about this every second since that day and in my gut, I still don’t feel like he has autism.  I don’t think I’m in denial.  I can see there are certainly things that stand out as interesting.  He can talk to adults but isn’t great at talking to other children.  He hand flaps.  He’s smart.  My husband thinks he has selective mutism.  I have no idea if he does or doesn’t.  I know that social anxiety and generalized anxiety are VERY prominent in my family.  My father never talked to other children when he was a child.  When he did start talking he stuttered.  So the biological component is there.

No matter what happens, I love him so much and feel so blessed to have him exactly as he is.  He is healthy… he is happy. He loves school.  He loves us.  He loves his sister.  He loves to sing and make up stories.  He loves playing outside and loves his extended family.   He is so incredibly precious.  I feel almost guilty for having the emotional reaction that I had.   I am not perfect.  I react to things like anyone else and then I have to step back and think about them.  After this week I know this…

I know my kid.  He is the epitome of love.  He is hilarious.  He is precious.  Every single day that I’ve been his mom has been a day better than all of the days before it.  He is perfect whether he is on the spectrum or not.

evening thoughts.

I’m not going to worry about sounding poetic… I’m just going to write because I’m sitting here crying and I feel so alone with my feelings.

My son is struggling at preschool. He doesn’t interact well with other children. He has trouble expressing himself. He is hyperactive. Nearly everyday I get a negative report from his teacher. I feel anxiety when going to pick him up from school. I don’t know how to help him. I know that as a child I was painfully shy. I often felt that I couldn’t talk to certain people, go in certain stores, etc. I felt that I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t know how to start conversations. I was nervous. I know that some of my issues will inevitably trickle down. He’s also experienced environmental hardships in dealing with my problems. Maybe he has social anxiety issues. I’m thinking out loud. I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.

Today at the park, two little boys were playing together. One tried to reach out to my son. The other little boy said “don’t bother, he doesn’t play.” I didn’t hear it but my husband did and told me about it this evening. I immediately started crying and haven’t stopped.

My son is bright, brilliant, funny, sweet, tender-hearted, joyful, beautiful, perfect. I never want anyone to see him as anything other than those things. Parenting is hard.

There is hope in the fact that today at the park he saw the other boys in one area.  He watched them.  He walked over to them.  He didn’t speak… but he noticed.  He was interested.  He smiled.  He tried to approach them.  I hovered and when I saw he was going too far away called him back.  Maybe my helicopter parenting has contributed.  Maybe I try so hard to help him that I’m not helping him at all.

He’s 3 and a half years old and that is exactly how long I’ve been a parent.  I’ve never done this before.  I’m trying, but this is hard.