As a society we encourage our children to be different and that being different is a good thing. When different comes with a diagnosis though, we long for them to share the same simple joys in life as other children, at least I do.
Since finding out about SPD, realizing my son has it as well as having an OT and Pediatrician agree, I have done a lot of research. Throughout the research I have seen the term “special needs” being used to refer to children with SPD. For my son, I don’t see that. To me he has EXTRA needs and has had these extra needs since the day he was born.
We have to take extra time picking out his clothes, from buying them to actually wearing them.
We have to take extra time during a haircut to get the fallen hair off of him.
We have to take extra time going to the bathroom, making sure there isn’t toilet paper in the toilet since the sight of wet toilet paper makes him gag. …continue reading
Yesterday Pudding asked me to read her Alexander and the the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Pudding likes this book, but it goes in phases for her, and she hasn’t been interested in reading it for several months. I wondered if there was a reason for her choice….
I went to bed with Daddy in my room and then I woke up and Daddy wasn’t there, and I was scared. I went to Mummy and Daddy’s room, and they were asleep, so I had to wake them up to get in their bed. Daddy had to get out. Even though it hadn’t started yet, I could see it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
When I woke up it was still dark and there were no birds singing yet, so I had to make noise instead. Mummy is grumpy, so I keep talking and turning until she cheers up. Eventually I hear Daddy get up, so I decide it is time to go downstairs.
Daddy wants me to do my therapeutic listening program, but I don’t want to. I don’t like wearing the head phones, and I don’t want to listen to that music. I pull the cord out of the CD player and Daddy makes me do it again from the beginning. I get my pink yoghurt on my Hello Kitty nightgown and I start to cry. It isn’t even 7 O’Clock, and already it is a Terrible Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
I think next time I’ll move to Australia. …continue reading