Twinges of Guilt

Every mother, even those with only neuro-typical kids, knows that each child develops at a different pace.  Just because two kids have the same mother and the same father and grow up in the same household does not mean they will have similar personalities.  This is undeniably true.  I’ve always thought that similar personalities in siblings are a freak of nature.  Maybe because I am one of four and none of us are alike.

Yet, I still find myself guilty when I celebrate the baby’s milestones.  I feel as though I am somehow being disloyal to H.  I do believe, thoroughly and truly, that he is perfect and wonderful as he is; I could not love him more.  But I do feel an extra bit of excitement to know that the baby is a neuro-typical child. 

I’m not sure I am cut out to be the mother of a special needs child.  I’m doing it, but I’m not sure I’m doing it well.  There are so many people out there who do it better.  There are actually people out there who choose to do it.  This was not something I signed up for, but had thrust upon me. 

I am always looking for signs that the baby might not be neuro-typical.  I know it is because I feel as though we missed a lot of early intervention with H because I didn’t know sooner.  Or, at least, I didn’t officially recognize it; deep down I knew something was off by the time he was six months old.  I just allowed myself to be told by everyone, including the pediatrician, that it was because he was a boy or late developer or a preemie.  I still feel behind the eight ball and I just don’t want to be there with two children.

I am just so happy that the baby says “mama” and doesn’t scream his head off in the bathtub or try to drown himself when I wash his hair.  I’m also thrilled that he isn’t so easy-going in some situations; something I now realize was H’s way of shutting down to deal with being overwhelmed.  Yet, if I celebrate these things and the normal milestones of first words and other communication, I just can’t help feeling like I am saying something is wrong with H.  That he isn’t perfect and whole.  He might not be the average kid, but he IS perfect and whole.

Either way I feel guilty.  I feel as though I’m slighting a child no matter how I handle it.  Maybe it’s because people will ask if I worry about the baby.  Or that our (new) pediatrician looks harder at the baby because of family history and usually tells me when I answer questions that I know what I’m looking for. 

Did I do wrong by H in the first place by allowing my concerns to be dismissed?  I just wanted to believe that was it.  And how horrible is that?  Is it because I won’t repeat the same mistakes?

I don’t know what it is, or why it is.  I just know that I have to figure out a way to celebrate both children as freely as I can.  I don’t have these pangs with my older two, but then again, they are long past hitting several milestones in a year and potty-training.  Oh, that potty-training…

I Need A Recipe To Cook

I am not a cook.  Not a natural cook.  Not with the likes of Bobby Flay or Rachel Ray.  It’s not instinctual.  I need recipes.  Detailed recipes that give me good step by step directions.  When I have one of those, I can make something happen.  I make a mean Mint Oreo Cake.  Because I have a recipe.  I often joke, if you can Google, you can do anything short of perform surgery.

For kids though, I have no recipe.  There is no user guide, no manual, no blueprint what-so-ever.

Because of this, I worry about my little guy quite a bit.  Will he ever get potty-trained?  Will he have friends?  Will he do OK in school?  Is he ever going to master language?  Will he have a girlfriend?  There is more to worry about than I could even begin to imagine with my older two children.  So many special, other concerns.  Things I never realized I would be concerned with: Will he bite the buttons off his shirt and choke?  I mean, come on, he’s 5 ½. 

But, I also worry about how his issues affect my other children.  I can’t allow just any kid to come over and play.  I have to consider how they deal with H.  Some kids do it extremely well, others not so much.  There are a couple of kids I literally have to say aren’t allowed over if I don’t have something specific for H to do elsewhere.  We also can’t go anywhere at any time. 

I worry that this builds resentment towards H from my other children.  My kids have done a great job in accepting H for H.  He’s just their brother.  But they are getting older and he holds them back at times.  I can’t make a promise that we’ll go to the zoo/museum/movies/library/place de jour tomorrow, or this week, or even this month in case it is more than H can handle and I can’t handle H during the trip.  We always have to play a “we’ll see” waiting game.  It’s not fair to my other kids.

My second son is only 18 months older than H.  The two of them should be best of friends.  And they ARE friends (thankfully).  But C must always be paired with H to make sure H is doing fine when we do go places, i.e., the local inflatable play place or park.  C should have times where he is able to go off and just be with his friends, since there are differences in skills and maturity due to H’s issues.  C never complains (God love that kid!) and is happy to be with his brother, but I worry if I’m hurting him in some way.  Not all of C’s friends can really comprehend what is going on with H—they are only in first grade.

I never know how to explain it to my kids, about H.  I don’t understand myself.  Doctors don’t seem to understand.  No one does.  So, I worry.  I worry because I have no other plan of action.  I need plans. A recipe.

How do YOU handle the limitations of one child puts on your other children?

Preschool Problems

I am at this horrible crossroads and I’m not quite sure how I got here. 

I had this wonderful, I mean W-O-N-D-E-R-F-U-L, preschool.  I sent my oldest two through this preschool and was so happy.  When it came time to send H, I was thrilled.  When problems really started to be noticed as “issues” and not normal childhood quirks, they were there.  They helped me find help.  They even started a special class for kids like H.  They didn’t care he wasn’t potty-trained.  My hand was held and I felt like I had someone on my side.  Ever more important because my husband, as wonderful of a dad as he was, still couldn’t admit that something just wasn’t typical about our little guy.  I could never say enough great things about this preschool.  The preschool who accepted my son for who he was and was willing to bend over backwards to help and meet his needs.

Until this year.

H is in two different classes.  A regular pre-K class (as his therapist recommends) and the special, developmental preschool class.  His regular pre-k teachers are an issue.

This year, even though I was assured it wasn’t a problem, potty training became an issue.  How do I know?  Because when H has an accident (and really, there aren’t many), he comes home smelling and uncleaned.  Dirty underwear thrown into his backpack.  It’s not good. 

Because he seems to not be clicking with the kids, and the teachers do not seem to be trying to help him.  We went to one birthday party and the kids ignored him.  Two even seemed to go out of their way to be not-nice to him.  Parents didn’t seem to care and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.  Now I’m torn about every birthday party invite that comes home.  Do we go because he is excited and it can be a good social opportunity, or do we not because of the potential problems that could arise.  My little boy is sweet and loving and wants friends; he doesn’t miss that he hardly has any.

I even think the teachers go out of their way to turn the kids against H.  When I was up there for the Christmas celebration, H was in line, following the directions.  A few of the kids got excited when they saw their parents and went running off to mom or dad.  H saw and thought he should to and did.  Every one of those kids, turned, and started tattling on H.  He wasn’t the only one.  He wasn’t the first; not by a long shot.  Yet it was tattling only on H.  The teachers brushed it off, but the underlying meaning wasn’t lost on me.

The teachers (did I mention that my older two children had these teachers with no problems?), never seem to have anything nice to say about my child.  After I had had it with their negativity, just a couple of weeks into school, I met with the director, and their negative comments stopped to me, but the looks, if ever so quickly, are still there.  The drawing of breath when I ask a direct question is still present.  I can tell they don’t like him, and judging from his not wanting to always go to school, I’m thinking he gets it to.  Not to mention, a few of the parents who are worthwhile, do let things slip about comments the teachers make about my child.

It is mostly a teacher issue, I know.  But it isn’t.  The director is aware of the situation and yet it continues.  Why employ teachers like that?  Teachers who are supposed to love all children, have a heart full of Christian acceptance (this is a church preschool), but don’t really.  These are teachers who only love perfect children.  Children who cause no problems.  Children aren’t perfect.  And worse, the director promised me last year during registration, that if there was an issue, we could always move H’s class, no problem.   Except when I asked, it was a problem.  The classes were all full.  Nothing could be done.  Funny.  I remember during H’s first year, I received a call from the director asking if I could move H to a different class so that another child could move into his class to help resolve a problem.  It didn’t bother me, so I moved H (same teacher, just a different class).  Why on earth couldn’t she do that for me?!!  For H.  Who she has known since he was born.  Now I can’t move him because the adjustment would be too difficult for my little guy.

I hate school days.  I consider pulling him out every week, multiple times a week.  But I don’t, because his therapist says it is probably still better for him to be there than not.  And if I pull him out of that class, I’d probably have to pull him out of the other class.  And things aren’t going as well there as I would like, it is a good class for him and he looks forward to that class.  And I need him as prepared for kindergarten next year as I can get.  And because I know that I need to learn to deal with crappy teachers like that because I won’t be able to control things as he goes further into school; although I won’t be paying a considerable amount of money for the pleasure.

So, here I now sit at the crossroads, trying to figure out if I send the baby there or not.  Because registration is already here, and it isn’t an easy school to get into.  And because I did once think they were the most wonderful preschool ever.  And I haven’t found another one.  And because I successfully sent two other children there, and I know the baby is a developmentally typical child.  Because they are nationally recognized.  But I hate them.  I hate them for not loving H.  For no longer accepting him.  For hurting me.  For betraying me.  I hate them.  Even if they are the best.