Those Children

Many times I have posted that I am "that parent". I am the parent who can't let go, the one who won't stop asking questions, and the one who cries when the children are left. I am the parent who teachers will talk about for years to come, not in a bad way, but in an overprotective-unable to cut the cord sort of way, and I am ok with that. What I realized today, however, is that I have "those children".

This morning, Evander and I went to see Bubba and Baby's holiday performance at school. Baby usually doesn't attend school on Fridays, but her teacher came to get her out of the car this morning and said, "I thought we should get her now so she will have time to calm down before we perform. Oh...would you mind possibly standing up on stage if we need you?" I should have known at that point what was in store, but I just agreed, and she took Baby, kicking and screaming, from the car. (She really loves school, but she doesn't like leaving me, which I must admit is kind of nice but I am starting to feel bad for her.) As Evander and I waited for the children to come out we discussed how we would handle the entrance.
"We have to keep our heads down," I explained. "If they see us, it is OVER!"
"I know," Evander said. "Oh here they come, and they look so cute."

"Don't look!" I insisted. "Hurry, look away! Don't make eye contact!"

At that moment, Baby rounded the corner and looked as if her world had fallen all around her. Her eyes were puffy, a fallen tear rested on her cheek, and dried snot shown on her long black sleeves. She wore a big orange pumpkin with a stem hat cocked to the side, careful not to mess up her bow. As her class mounted the stage, I heard "Stand up. Stand up, Baby!" She was refusing to stand, and she was refusing to participate. So...there she sat, a rotten pumpkin in a field of happy dancing faces. As they left the stage, we made contact and it was just like slow motion. I tried to look away but I saw it register in her face. Immediately she started her dramatic hyperventilating cry and the entire audience turned to see what had happened. They had found the rotten pumpkin's owners, and everyone began to laugh.

Baby sat with us as Bubba emerged from his classroom and headed for the stage. He was anxiously searching the crowd for a familiar face, and we were trying to get him to look our way. He was expecting us to be there, and I wanted to make sure he knew. Just then Baby screamed, "BUBBA! BUBBA'S IN THERE!! HEY BUBBA!" Eye contact confirmed! He did not sing or dance but he did stand with the rest of his classmates in front of a large crowd of strangers, which is major progress in my book. As they exited, he also found us and we were off to their rooms for breakfast.

I acknowledge that I am a little nutty about my kids at times, but that is just who I am. I want to make sure that they are well cared for, and nobody can do that like I can. I also acknowledge that I may have "those children". The children who cry through an entire performance, while all the other children are singing, or the child who refuses to sit down when everyone else is in circle time. I understand that they may prefer Evander and I over anyone else, and that is ok with me. They are good kids. They are loving and kind, and they take care of each other. I don't mind getting looks because my child is a little dramatic...it won't last forever. We should cherish our rotten pumpkin while we can.

I'm a Big Girl Now!

Everyone who knows Evander and I well say that Baby is a perfect combination of the two of us. She looks like him, with her beautiful blond curls and her silly little smile, but she has my personality. She is the sweetest child in the world, but she has a look that would even stop the Wicked Witch of the West dead in her tracks. She is independent and smart. She likes who and what she likes and does not concern herself with the rest. When she decides to do something, she does it, which is why the events of Monday afternoon should come as no surprise.

After arriving home from school and eating a snack, Baby announced, in her slightly more country than southern accent, "Gotta go potty, Mommy". Now she usually says this when I am changing her diaper as a way of escaping. She will run to the potty and sit for several minutes, occasionally producing an end result (maybe once a week). When she said it this time, I followed her into the bathroom for her to try her luck, and she succeeded instantly. "WOW!" I said. "Good girl, Baby," she praised herself. After making a big deal of her accomplishment, I scooped her up to put on her diaper, but she fought me. Then she said, "Underwear, Mommy?"

I figured there would be no harm in putting underwear on her for a little while, since she had just gone in the potty. Well...that was Monday afternoon and as of today (Wednesday), she has been accident free. She has worn big girl panties every day and even wore them to school today. We have not been potty training or even encouraging it. After all, she is only 19 months old. She put her mind to it and decided she wanted to be a big girl. Now our house is diaper free!! YEAH!

Injection Phobia

As a child (and even as an adult), I hated the thought of getting a injection. My mother has told me stories of times that I kicked nurses or had to be physically restrained in the "shot room" as I affectionately called it (my pediatrician's office had a separate room that you went to receive an injection). I even heard of a time when I was so tense, the medication literally came back out of my leg and the injection had to be given again. As an adult, I was no better. In order to receive a TB test for my student teaching, I had to have medication prescribed. I hyperventilated every time my blood was drawn and would opt for 20 days of pills over one injection. So...it is no wonder that I freak out each time my children receive an injection.
Yesterday, Baby and Bubba visited the pediatrician for another sinus infection (for Bubba) to be diagnosed. While there, the doctor asked if they had received their flu shots and I admitted they had not. Baby took her flu shot like her momma. She screamed and cried before she even received the shot. She tried to push the nurse out of the door and was yelling "Go home? Go home, Mommy!" I, however, did as I should and held her down while they stabbed a gigantic needle into her tiny, yet chubby, little thigh, fighting off my own tears. Everything was fine until that afternoon.
While sitting in the waiting room at Bubba's feeding therapy session, Baby looked up at me, and I immediately knew something was wrong. You can always see in her eyes when she is sick, so I scooped her up and felt of her head. She was burning up! I was trying to act as if nothing was wrong, because I was in a room with immune-compromised children and parents waiting to pounce on a sick child. I held Baby and counted down the minutes until Bubba was with us. I have no idea what his therapist said to me because I was racing to the car, all the while cursing myself for letting my baby get a flu shot. We got home and I took her temp... 102.4. I searched for the flu shot handout they gave me at the doctor to see if a fever should be expected. It said slight fever...causes for concern: high fever. What the hell constitutes a high fever in the flu shot information world? For me 102.4 was high but was it high for a flu shot?
I gave her tylenol and was getting her ready for bed when I noticed she sounded a little short of breath. I mentioned it to Evander who said she just sounds a little stopped up. Relax mom! I was afraid she was having a reaction to the shot, but that was silly. I'm sure she will be fine, I continued to tell myself as I put her to bed. I then tried to relax and watch Grey's Anatomy, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
I made myself wait until after GA was over and went in to check on her. As soon as I entered her room I could here her breathing, or should I say lack of breathing. Her breaths were incredibly shallow and extremely rapid. I bent over to touch her forehead and noticed her little chest working so hard. Then I touched her and she was hot to the touch, so I ran for the thermometer... 103.7. "Evander!", I screamed. He came in to check on her, and she awoke and immediately began to cry. She and I rushed to the ER, while Evander stayed behind to look after Bubba.
At the ER check-in/triage the nurse began to tell me that ALL children have high fevers after the flu shot and she wasn't having a reaction. I explained that I understand high fevers but I do not understand a 103.7 fever and respiratory distress. I wanted to give this lady a piece of my mind but my baby needed me, and I did not have time to deal with ignorance at the moment. As she weighed Baby, she began to cry and that is when I heard it. It was the barky seal cough followed by the strider sound when she calmed. I had heard that barky cough three time last winter, and I said "That sounds like croup".
We were rushed back into a bed and saw the doctor almost immediately. The doctor confirmed my suspicions. "She has croup. It was just a coincidence that she had the flu shot today. Children should never run a fever over 101 with a flu shot, so you did the right thing (ha! ha! ignorant nurse lady)." They gave her a steroid, tylenol, and motrin and sent us home. I checked on her during the night and she was doing better. We visited our pediatrician this morning, where we received more steroids and she is doing even better.
I should have known that it wasn't the flu shot that gave her a reaction, but it was just my first thought. I have always had an issue with injections, but it was unfounded. As an adult and a parent of a child on the autism spectrum, I know way more than I want to about injections, and it feeds my fear. This is why I support green vaccines. I know that children need vaccines, but it just scares me to think of all the potential consequences.

Speech Graduate

Almost 7 months ago, Bubba, Baby and I walked into a speech evaluation, not knowing what was to come. He was barely speaking (1-2 words) and often grunted or screamed to communicate. He did not point at things and rarely made gestures. Through the course of the evaluation, we discussed his birth and language history. We talked about how he never babbled as a baby and would cry for hours. Then, Baby and I watched as Bubba tried to name colors, pictures, letters, and numbers. I felt horrible for him because I was watching him slowly drown in a sea of words. He was frustrated and anxious. Finally, he gave up and refused to pay attention any longer. At that point, the speech therapist explained what we already knew, Bubba had a speech delay.

We began speech once a week for thirty minutes, homework for the week, and group speech at school. I labeled everything in our house with a picture and a word. I began forcing Bubba to talk. When he grunted Evander and I would say "Use your words." It was horrible watching him as he refused to speak. He would scream and become aggressive, but we wouldn't budge. He had to attempt to say something or he would get nothing. Slowly but surely, words started to come and then, when we started the GFCF diet, words spilled out. The sea of words he was drowning in were inside of him all the time. Now, though, it was a waterfall of noun and verb combos, followed by complete sentences. It was amazing!

Now, let's fast forward to today. Bubba went into speech today reluctantly. I warned the therapist that it was "one of those days", so I wasn't expecting much of a report at the end of the session. What I got, however, stunned me, no matter what the day.

"It is time for Bubba's re-evaluation," the therapist said.

"I thought it was around that time," I said.

"And, Bubba has met all but 1 of his speech goals and seems to be staying on target" she continued, "so I really don't see any reason why he should continue."

"Continue what?" I questioned.

"Continue speech," she explained.

"Really...we're done? Just like that? He is appropriate for his age level?" I stammered.

"Yes, he is. He has really done fabulous and made tremendous progress in such a short amount of time," she said.

I immediately picked Bubba up and gave him a big kiss. I expected that he would graduate from speech before kindergarten, but I had no idea it would be so soon. He is, after all, speaking in sentences and responding appropriately to questions, but I am still in shock. All I have to say is...speech recovery, check!

We will still begin speech therapy through the school district when he begins PPCD. This is so that he will maintain his speech and begin to work on articulation, but overall he is at age level. One less therapy to attend!

Don't Discount a Good Bribe

The three of us do a lot together, and we do it without help. Bubba, Baby, and I can stroll through Wal-Mart, breeze through the vet, run through the doctor's office, and jump in (and out of...more like a bunny hop) a restaurant without a second thought. We do things, just the three of us, all the time and without a second thought, but the thought of me having two children alone at Children's Hospital while one is sedated and getting a head CT made me pause. In fact, it made me twitch a little.

Four days from the appointment, I began to wonder how I was going to handle screaming Baby (because our appointment was at 12:00; her nap time) and screaming, partially sedated Bubba at the same time. Evander, I knew, was out. He had an all-day meeting, so that was out of the question and my good friend, Momma Bird, had the flu. Evander thought of a person who turned out to have better things to do than watch my child, so I was stuck. I had resigned to the fact that I would strap Baby in the stroller and listen to her scream while I cared for Bubba, who was the one who really needed my attention.

At the last minute, though, I got lucky. Evander got sick (not so lucky for him) and had to come home early from work. YEAH! (Normally I would not cheer about my husband's illness, but this is not a normal situation.) He came home just in time to put Baby to bed, so Bubba (who was already screaming because he wasn't allowed to eat because of sedation) and I were off to the hospital. On the drive over, I got a crazy thought in my head. What if he didn't have to be sedated? After all, without Baby, I could solely focus on Bubba, and I knew that I could convince him to be still. I just had to! He would be so angry and out of sorts if he was sedated, and what if he regressed a little? I couldn't chance it!

After filling out mounds of admissions paperwork, we headed to the radiology department to check in. I approached the girl at the desk to check in and then went to sit. Then, I went for the re approach. "Is there any way we can do a test run?" I said to her as she gave me a puzzled look. "Excuse me, ma'am?" she said. "You know, can we try this without sedation first?" After calling the radiologist and giving me a not so reassuring look she said the radiologist would come and speak to me. I have it in the bag, I thought!

A tiny brown skinned, dark headed man emerged from the forbidden entry doors and glanced at me from around a post, while he was pretending to look at our paperwork. I decided I would stare him down, so he might be intimidated. I was, I presumed, about the same size as him, but had a much more determined look than he could ever pull off. He shuffled over from behind his hiding spot and it began:

"Ma'am, I am Mark, and I will be doing Bubba's head CT. He is 2 right?"

"Yes."

"Well, most 2 year olds are unable to sit still for this type of thing."

"It lasts a maximum of 5 minutes, correct."

"Yes, that is correct."

"Well...he isn't most 2 year olds, so lets try it."

"I don't think it's a good idea. He looks very rambunctious out here and I don't want to expose him to any extra radiation."

"His waiting room appearance does not correspond to his head ct appearance, so lets go."

"I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Well...he's my son, not yours, and I would like to try it."

"Ok, but I will not start the scan until he is completely still. If he is moving then we will have to stop and sedate him."

"Fine"

Then, Mark led us to the room. Before we entered I knelt down next to Spencer and said, "Let me see your eyes. This is a big doughnut. You are going to slide in the middle of the doughnut, and its going to take your picture. You like doughnuts right? It won't hurt you. You have to be VERY still though. You have to freeze and not move anything while you are in the doughnut. If you are completely still and let this doughnut take your picture, you can have a Dr. Pepper when you are done." As I finished, a smile crept across his face, and I could tell he was thinking of a nice Dr. Pepper. Finally he said, "and a snack?" "And a snack," I said.

He hopped up on the table and let complete strangers position his head and body. He was completely limp as they moved his head and placed the lead apron on him. I held his hand and they agreed to begin. One thing I had forgotten to tell him, though, was the noise the "doughnut" would make, and I could feel him tense. Then I heard, "Mommy?" "You are ok! I'm holding your hand. Don't move!!" I kept reassuring him, as I heard it again; "Mommy?" "Do you want that Dr. Pepper? Then DON'T MOVE!" "Mommy, my tongue moving!" I tried not to laugh as I said "It's ok, just don't move your head."

In no time he was done and off the CT. The radiologist and nurse were amazed. They both said they have never seen someone so young sit through that before. They were lavishing him with praise, but he didn't care. He wanted his Dr. Pepper, and you better believe he got it. I was SO proud of him that I knew I could handle a little hyperactivity over sedation. He also knew that I always keep my promise, or it might not have worked. I know books and discipline gods say not to bribe your children, but I say never discount a good bribe (or a sick husband).

PPCD Evaluation

Today was Bubba's PPCD (public preschool for children with disabilities) evaluation. It consisted of an evaluation of his cognitive, behavioral, physical, mental, and speech abilities and a parent interview. I have been very unsure as to how this evaluation would go, despite the fact that we have had several private evaluations performed. The school district looks at "issues" from a classroom standpoint (how Bubba would function in a classroom and what issue would impede classroom progress), whereas the private sector seems to look at "issues" from a societal perspective (how does he function in society and are his behaviors in line with social norms).

Shortly after 8:30 am, we were called into the evaluation room. Just outside the room, the diagnostician instructed me to wait in an observation area and say good-bye to Bubba. After stealing a quick kiss and informing the adult that when he says potty he means NOW, I hurried off to my designated waiting area while she took Bubba into his room. As I entered my dark space, I noticed that it was cluttered with old filing cabinets and too small chairs. There was a mini table pushed up against the one-way glass that I could see Bubba's little face through. I immediately felt his nervousness and anxiety as four women looked down on him, watching his every move and taking notes about each single word he said. A team of four (occupational therapist, diagnostician, speech-language therapist, and psychologist) questioned him and played with him. They studied his every move, as I tried to see how he was doing. I scooted my chair one way and then the other. I stood, and I sat. I was getting frustrated because I really had no idea what was going on in the room next to me. It was like being in a movie where the person stands outside and watches the family through the window. You get the idea of what is going on but you have no idea what is being said or how questions are being answered. I finally gave up and filled out the paperwork I was given, only glancing up occasionally to make sure he was still content. After 1 1/2 hours, we were done.

Two hours later, I returned for the parent interview, while Evander watched the kids. They asked me about his sensory issues, his autistic behaviors, and his social interaction. They asked about his birth history, developmental history, and speech history. They wanted to know everything that had happened in the past 3 years in one hour. As a teacher I understand "just the facts ma'am" but as a mother I have a lot of sometimes, buts, and every now and thens to add. It is so hard to disclose all the warning signs I saw or bad feelings I had over the past three years.

At the end of my interview, they disclosed to me that the team will be recommending Bubba for special education services (PPCD and speech). I was happy and sad at the same time. In my head I didn't think he would qualify because he has come so far, but they reminded me of all the "little things" (that is how I see them compared to the other issues we were dealing with) that I had put on the "worry about that later" shelf. The team found that Bubba is of average or above average intelligence but exhibits many autistic characteristics. For instance, he barely spoke in his evaluation and when he did, he would use one-two word phrases. He is unable to decipher emotion and cannot read facial expressions. He does not engage others in his play, lines everything up, and flaps his hands.

Compared to the lack of verbal communication, severe tantrums, and sleep problems we had been having, I sort of forgot about these things, thinking I could tackle that later. I guess, though, now is later. He is communicating (he speaks at home so we know he is now capable), rarely has a severe tantrum and has been sleeping through the night for a week (although he is currently sleeping on the couch at night). So...what better time to go after emotion and social skills. I am so proud of how far he has come and I know he will come even further. Bubba will begin PPCD and speech when he turns 3 and continue to grow and recover.

New School

As a teacher, I never understood those mothers who lingered awkwardly outside the classroom door on the first day of school. They had tears in their eyes as they watched through the tiny window by the door and would wave occasionally. These moms were always found in the kindergarten pod, but a few could be found throughout the school. I always thought "Let 'em go" to myself as I walked past these sniffling mommies, but I realized today, as I pulled away from Bubba and Baby's preschool, I am one of those mothers.
Bubba and Baby began their new typical preschool today with much excitement and nervousness. Baby drug her new pink Princess backpack behind her to the car as she held tight to Lambie, while Bubba was collecting cars and his Lambie in a bag. We collected his backpack and groceries (because he cannot have the snacks they provide) and hurried out the door. When we arrived Bubba asked "Are you coming, Mommy?" I stopped and explained that I was dropping him and Baby off but would return after his nap and snack to pick him up.
Bubba put on his backpack, grabbed his Lambie and walked confidently into his new room without looking back. I was able to steal a quick kiss before he disappeared behind the door into the "orange room". Then it was Baby's turn. She had, of course, already found the library and was looking at a book in the 30 seconds she had been left alone. I scooped her up and walked to deliver her to her new room. Before I handed her off, I warned her teacher that she was a crier. With that, her teacher plucked her from my arms, and I vanished after a quick hug and kiss.
I barely made it to the car before my eyes filled with tears. I would not admit it, but I had been nervous since Sunday about their new school and now the day had arrived. I was worried that Bubba would eat something he should not or regress completely by the time I came to pick him up. I was afraid that Baby would not stop crying out for me and have to be picked up early. They were both fine, though. Bubba had two potty accidents, but I expected that. Otherwise he had a great day. Baby stopped crying before I even walked out the door and played her heart out. They both ate their lunch and took a nap.
I know that their new preschool will be so much better for them. They will make new friends and learn new skills. It will also be good for me. I will have time to myself to run errands and clean the house. I hate to see, though, what kindergarten will bring, not for Baby and Bubba, but for me. Leaving them is horrible. It is my problem, though, not theirs. I am kidding myself if I think I can go back to work!