I realize now that it was there the second he was born.
- The nurses thought it was odd that he didn’t cry when he got his vitamin K shot at birth.
- They had to MAKE him cry to get his Apgar.
- He didn’t flinch when they did his PKU stick.
I joked that he was tough like his Daddy.
- He fought being swaddled…he HAD to have his hands free. (At a day old)
- He would only sleep face down on my chest….until he got older and was so heavy I couldn’t breathe.
- The only way to get sleep in chunks longer than 30mins was to have him in bed next to me. Even then he only slept an hour at a time…until 6 months and he “graduated” to 2 hours at a time.
I’m justified it by saying that I’m not a good sleeper and poor thing must have inherited my insomnia.
- If we went out to eat it couldn’t be busy…and God Help Me if someone had a birthday. We’d have to eat fast or the screaming would start.
- He spent most of his life diaperless because a wet diaper meant screaming bloody murder.
- I would spend hours on my feet walking or hours in the glider rocking because it was the only way he would nap.
I learned about “high needs” kids and saw a lot of my son in it.
- He falls down and I hold my breath…will he laugh and shrug it off or will this be a screaming fit?
- I have to wipe his hands numerous times during dinner…he falls and gets dirt on his hands and screams until you wipe them off.
He’s quirky. He’s unique.
- Night-weaning takes a month. A month of no sleep and screaming for hours.
- Nothing helps him sleep…I do EVERYTHING that’s suggested to me…routine/no routine, noise machine, dark room, aromatherapy…and bedtime is still an hour of screaming. Or…
- We let him sit on the couch until 10pm when he passes out sitting up.
High Needs. Spirited. Insomnia. That’s it, right?
- He jumps off the couch and crashes to the floor. That can’t be comfortable and it sure isn’t safe. And try as I might I can’t.make.him.stop.
- There are no clean bottles and I try to give him milk in a cup. He starts screaming hysterically. This goes on for at least 10mins…I even wash a bottle and fill it with milk but by then he’s too far gone. His breathing is ragged, he’s gagging, he’s bright red…I cry with him because it’s painful to watch.
My depression gets worse. My anxiety goes up. I frequently sit in the shower and cry because deep down I know that something isn’t right.
Now I know…something WASN’T right. He has Sensory Processing Disorder. It’s actually pretty mild…but when you’re in the middle of things it doesn’t seem like it.
So when you see the kid screaming in the high chair, see the mom updating Facebook again about how overwhelmed she is, or hear the kid screaming in the grocery store don’t judge. I’m doing the very best I can.