Français
Autism and the #ActuallyAutistic community I usually keep controversy off my blog but tonight I’ve decided to use my platform to speak up and shed some light on a dark side…
Browsing Tag
blogging
-
-
Before I became a mom You know when I was the best mom I’ve ever been? Before I actually had kids. I was such a judgy little shit when I think…
-
Thank you Maxi-Cosi for sponsoring this post. Keep your little adventurers comfy, safe & stylish with the Maxi-Cosi Magellan™ Max 5-in-1 Convertible Car Seat! Hi there! I’m Willy, Eileen’s husband, and…
-
Settling in at our new house Decorating our new house is coming together nicely. Our home is twice as big as our old place so we’ve been buying a bunch of…
-
Home Sweet Home We’ve just been on the road for two weeks and as much as I love road trips, it feels good to be home. I’ve been looking forward…
-
This post was sponsored by GOJO, the makers of PURELL® products, and all opinions expressed in my post are my own. Can you believe it’s already time to prepare for back-to-school?…
-
This post was sponsored by NABISCO as part of an Influencer Activation for Influence Central and all opinions expressed in my post are my own. During the summer we like to…
-
This post was sponsored by Aflac as part of an Influencer Activation for Influence Central and all opinions expressed in my post are my own. When I look at the sky,…
-
This post was sponsored by Amazon as part of an Influencer Activation for Influence Central and all opinions expressed in my post are my own. My new personal assistant Ever…
-
I remember after Charlie was born, I wanted to send thank you cards to people who had helped us welcome Charlie by purchasing items from our baby registry. I was tired,…
![[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �](http://scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/949748cae8dba4ebeaa2330943a1e957/5D1AECC1/t51.2885-15/e35/c22.0.1035.1035a/s320x320/52762732_282700752662877_556964404511934262_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com "[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �")