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Thanks to Brentwood Home for giving us the gift of good sleep. All opinions expressed are my own. It’s fall, y’all! I can’t believe it’s already been four months since we…
Browsing Tag
mommy blogger
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Autism and political correctness I’d be lying if I told you that it gets easier. Autism doesn’t get easier, not really. You just learn to deal with it better. You learn…
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I wrote this class for p52 clicks. I figured I’d share here too. Join their Facebook and Instagram page. When I started taking pictures a few years ago, I was inspired…
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This post is sponsored by Triple Paste®; however, all thoughts and opinions are my own. When your baby grows up… Seeing our babies grow up is bittersweet. At least, it is for…
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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…
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Autism Jargon: say that again? One thing I wish they had given us after Charlie was diagnosed with autism is a little book with all those autism acronyms we were going…
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This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #CollectiveBias #dothe99 #99obsessed Back-to-school on a budget Who’s excited for back-to-school season? Summers are fun…
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This post is sponsored by KinderCare, and all opinions expressed are my own. Jude is turning three in a week’s time and I am amazed by how far he’s come since…
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This post is sponsored in partnership with Think About Your Eyes Summer in Texas! Who’s excited about summer? Me! Well, I’m excited about summer activities, but not too excited about summer…
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Thank you I Vaccinate for sponsoring this post and helping me spread awareness of the importance of vaccinations for children. Making decisions as a mom When I became a mom, I quickly…
![[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. �")