WarriorMotherWoman
I sort of feel like over the past week or so I’ve been yawning and stretching and hitting the snooze button on life. Getting ready to wake-up but not really hopping to it, ya dig? Well. I am awake now.
Somehow all of the medical texts, personal accounts, treatment plans and autism “not-so-fun” facts have mishmash-ed together finally and I get it. I GET IT. My son is not going to magically get better. Although he has improved he is not “better”. Our welcome at his daycare will expire soon and I am wasting precious “plastic brain” time.
I have to do this.
My son is autistic. The hardest part about being a mother to an autistic child is how little you can help with their actual therapy. You can support it, but when the therapists come to work you are ushered out of a room. “too distracting, different for mommy, learns less”. That sucks. He doesn’t know that it is hurtful when he screams “You aren’t my mommy” for hours at home- it is my job to make it roll off me. I have been wasting time and energy feeling helpless and overwhelmed. The overwhelmed isn’t going to go away but the helpless I am chasing off.
I will do this.
I am his mother and his advocate and I will fight to get him exactly what he needs. Successful autism therapy is intensive. 40 hours a week in the home. Radical diet change, total lifestyle shift. It is my job to make this happen.
I am going to make this happen.
(p.s. somebody remind me about this next time I am sobbing on my kitchen floor after an outburst, k?)
