The stressors of having a special need’s child while they
may appear magnified are merely copycats of the stress related to having any child,
neurotypical , typical or otherwise challenged. In November, 2009 there was an article in www.disabilityscoop.com comparing
autism moms’ stress to combat soldiers which I vaguely agreed with at the time,
but more so a few years later. 5th
grade and I was trying to make sense of Jazz’s sudden onset of throwing up on
Sunday night, vomit rolling out like that of a newborn as opposed to exorcist
projectile sticky goop. For three months
this went on, until she found a way to share what was making her so upset &
nervous. No doctors, no anxiety meds, no
nothing this usually magic mama said could ease her nerves so that puking
became a norm which set us on edge as we were constantly waiting for an
eruption; it could happen anyplace, anytime, with or without a toilet and waste
basket present. Shrill shrieks and some
doe-eyed pleading glance would be her only warning. So when they say it takes a toll on the
parents of a kid with autism and well-meaning folks say “God sure knew what she
was doing when she gave Jasmynn to you two; I’m not sure anyone else would have
handled this so well.” I smile
quietly.
First off, I doubt that God has time to hand pick parents
given all of the other really tough issues in this world. Secondly, had her father and I not been old and tired out grownups, let’s say
I’d been gifted Jazz as my first child at 17, I’m convinced that things would
have gone badly and I wouldn’t be getting any Grammy for my performance. But most importantly, I’d say having kids
takes a monumental toll on anyone who ventures down that road.
Parenting a special needs’ child or not, the challenges are the same with one
exception…most kids expect to fly the
coop after graduating high school or college and begin their journey of finding
their own life paths. Even if she could
sprout wings and leap the fence, our darling will depend on us, or someone like
us, a caregiver, a job coach to model how to do simple employability tasks, in
all honesty, longer than most kids; quite possibly, she is ours to eternity...
And that’s our eternity. Then God-willing she becomes her sister’s dependent
until one of them wears out & goes into that long, dark sleep.
That’s unflinchingly, gut-wrenchingly the hardest part about
having Jazz. There is so much out of our
hands regarding her future. We struggle
with two questions, “Who will love our girl, the way we do, given the forever Herculean
task of helping her navigate this world?” and finally, “How can I expect her
sister(s) to alter their lives for a child they did not bargain for?” When I find the answers, I’ll gladly share,
but don’t hold your breath. The unknown
is what keeps me awake while most of the world slumbers. It is the skeleton in my closet, rattling its
chain, forcing me to puzzle and work through nagging fears. They say that those on the autism spectrum
cling to routine, constancy, and are thrown off by the abstract/unknown. I guess I have a bit of autism in me then,
for not being able to control that one tiny piece of her reality throws me to
the wall like straight-line winds.
So yes, I absolutely agree that having kids is a stressor.
You have to stay 3 steps ahead of them at any moment. You have to expect to stop traffic (and pray the
driver is not texting so she/her will see your frantic flailing & hear your
wailing lunatic mama shrieks) when your kid bolts for the street. You face boundless nights of whimpering or
perverse laughter which makes no sense as you calmly return them to their own
bed/crib. You become a magician in the
kitchen, hiding the broccoli in plain sight, cajoling them to eat something,
anything besides chicken nuggets and quartered grapes. Persnickety appetites and
those strong willed kiddoes who expect “sameness” can honestly survive on three
foods for years, which of course brings with it gut issues & toileting
trauma.
And the kicker, the clincher, the really BIG factor which
rocks our worlds when we become parents is the transformation of our spousal relationship. What used to be “ME & You” is now “WE 3
OR 4 OR 5 PLUS” so that date nights (exactly what does that look like, I
wonder?) can become a hazy memory.
With Elmo taking center stage at the Archer house, and a thousand
nursery rhymes memorized I find myself humming or singing along to the tunes,
but I really don’t feel bad because just this past weekend I observed that my 4th
daughter also knows all of the words to “Wheels on the Bus” and sings along as
she cooks, though her twins have run off to other distractions. It is never-ending: trying to juggle work, parenthood, partner in
a healthy marriage with the constant needs of the child. Who bargained for any
of this you might ask yourself? But then
those nighttime kisses from a booger-crusted, saliva slewing mouth erase any
doubts we may have.
We are always guessing
as a parent; conscious that our every move is going to impact our
children. Mistakes will be made. Battles will be fought over Mac n’
cheese. Our alone times, the
what-used-to-be-us-time will be sidelined for some evening when exhaustion has
not won and our eyes are wide-open. Or
you can alter what your expectations were. You compromise. In my age old wisdoms, I’ve learned to pop a
Sesame Street DVD in, but let me tell you, it’s seriously a romance killer to hear “la, la, la, la,
Elmo’s world” as background ambiance. We are all shell-shocked in this thing called
parenting. It’s not combat stress
related. I would never dare to include
myself or my husband in such an exalted arena.
I carry worries not weapons. I am
selective in the battles I choose where Jazz will ALWAYS be the victor because
her determination knows no end. And her elephantine
memory is long. Keeping the peace at all
costs, making sure her world runs smoothly, is how I get through the really
hard days. You’d be amazed at how the
world looks after a bubble bath and a glass of Merlot so long as you’ve got a
partner who lets Calgon take you away.
It seems that I often forget to mention that key component, but I’m blessed with a wonderful husband.
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