I love my son but there are moments where I really resent the Hell out of our situation. Autism, you really know how to wear a mom out.
Monday morning. We had just returned the day before from a quick get a way in the woods. (You know, that place without Wifi) It had been a pretty successful couple of days. Even pushed our kiddo outside his routine comfort zone a few times and he really thrived. So I guess you could say I was feeling cocky.
I find the permission slip in his book bag. I remember seeing it briefly before we left but I was in vacation mood and was like "Screw it. Monday Mama can deal with this. Vacation Mama in da house!" It was for an after school pizza party. A fundraiser for a student in his class who has been out for some time dealing with a health crisis. My kiddo loves pizza. He likes his classmates. Despite having autism, he enjoys looking forward to a party. So I'm all "Hey dude, look at this thing going on for Thursday. Doesn't it sounds like a hoot and a half? Maybe like a hoot and three quarters?"
WRONG!! I could not of been more wrong. It was like I was new here or something. I might as well as suggested would you like to have all your nails trimmed. (You're probably thinking "Doesn't she mean nails pulled out?" If you are, you probably haven't tried to give an autistic kid a mani/pedi. Get back to me on that sport after you're done drinking.)
Anywho, back to the monster meltdown over daring to suggest he may enjoy eating pizza with his friends for a good cause. Anxiety is really a heartless bitch. There really is no other way to say it. His panic over it was epic. Parties can't happen at school. (Which is kind of bullshit because it's grammar school. They have parties for ALL THE THINGS!) He can't stay after school because he will miss the bus. Mind you I had just picked him up early from school the Friday before so we could get on the road. (Remember, Vacation Mama was all "Let's play hooky!") There was no explaining it. No social story that was going to talk him down. The kiddo hath spoken.
My husband was like "Babe, forget it. This is NOT a thing to push for." and I knew he was right. In the grand scheme, an after school pizza party. It wasn't worth it. We can't even mention it in the house without tears. So many tears. I am not medicated enough to deal with his anxiety over this.
You know what sucks though? Thursday morning, I can betcha my son will be quick to rattle off that he's going to it. Even though I have RSVPed no. Then I get to deal with a meltdown over the fact that I was trying to prevent a meltdown. It's a meltdown within a meltdown. It's like meltdown inception. I cannot win. Here it is Tuesday and I'm already mentally preparing myself for Thursday. Tuesday Mama is going to the wine shop later. She knows Thursday Night Mama is going to need a big bottle of Pinot Nior.
I just got back now from his little recorder concert. As some parents may know, the recorder is an instrument invented by Satan that all third grade music teachers like to spring onto parents. Up till now, my kiddo has always enjoyed performing any kind of music. He's really rocked it before. Today, well it looks like anxiety crashed the party again. He cried and scripted the entire time and because of it, so did I. (Well the crying. Scripting lines from various Real Housewives series really wouldn't of worked here.) I couldn't get to him without making a fuss. His teacher pulled him out for a bit but that made it even worse. Damned if we do, damned if we don't. I barely held it together walking out of the school. My husband said bravely "On to the next thing." He's right again. Really, all we can do is move forward.
I can't help it. Sometimes this really just sucks. I hate that I can't stop his anxiety. I hate that it seems to consume him. I hate that sometimes, despite all my best efforts, I still can't help him feel safe and secure. I resent the way I feel because I know there will be so many times where his autism will absolutely amaze me. Right now though, I'm just having a very hard week celebrating his neurodiversity.