The pseudo-autism diagnosis
Hey guys. Lemme give you a timeline of the last day or two..
Wednesday morning: Drop the Kid off and am told that they might kick him out because his last temper tantrum was too insane. I stand there, while handing off my kid and I try to keep my shit together. Then the woman goes on to say that the Kid is lovely but there is something very wrong with him. I kiss the Kid good bye and walk out and proceed to call the Husband, crying. Then I go home and search desperately for another daycare. I find a Montessori one and am like "yes!". The woman writes me back within a couple of hours and she is awesome and over the interwebs, I immediately feel I have met a kindred spirit.
Wednesday afternoon: A speech therapist comes over and I can't be there, but the Husband is there with the Kid (I may or may not have yelled in the morning "Offer her some goddamn coffee!"). So, she shows up and I'm at work and I'm like a high squirrel, wondering what the hell is happening over at our place. Around 5:30, the Husband sends me a text and writes "It went well. She says he is a little bit delayed speaking. We will talk about it when you get home." I do the "Juice" dance. I am throwing the proverbial football down and doing the Chicken Dance. I am bouncing off the walls. I finish up work and head home.
Wednesday Night: I get home and then the Husband tells me more about the visit and it appears that his text was a text of lies. No, nothing went well. In fact, our child is not normal and needs therapy stat. I might be minimizing (is that a word?), but I lost my ever-loving shit. I was a Greek tragedy. The mascara ran and it ran down to my pits. I lost it. I really did. I went through all stages of grief. I could not stop crying.
Thursday morning: I woke up in tears. I made coffee in tears. I sobbed my way through an article about Tom Cruise and Laura Prepon. I couldn't stop crying. Got the Kid ready and I kept sobbing. I went to work and I sobbed. Due to a twist of fortunate fate, I met the speech therapist at work around 9 and we talked for about 45 minutes and it came to light that the Kid most likely has "autism". Well, I lost it again. I went back to the office and sobbed some more.. And let me stop here for a minute and say that I am so incredibly blessed that my boss and co-workers are so incredible... and I kept crying. And not pretty crying. More like deep gulps and sobbing and tears and it was all so very messy and I was wearing suede.
Still Thursday morning: I wrote my mom who wrote awesome emails back, I wrote on Facebook and aired "my dirty laundry". A friend texted me immediately and told me I'm Jane from Happy Endings which helped a lot...Let me just stop once again... First of all, I am pretty freaking open about my life because I feel that is how I roll. That is just who I am. I am open and I hope that maybe, through my stupid posts about self-tanning, that maybe, just maybe, I can make someone feel a little bit happier. I have nothing to hide besides my weight. I posted my situation on Facebook because I needed an outlet. Dear lord. I have never felt so incredibly loved in my whole entire life. I cannot believe the amount of private messages and messages I got. It was incredible. I was humbled and I once again realized that I have incredible taste in Facebook friends. So, ergo, I am awesome. I continue to believe in humanity and if anyone ever questions it, mosey on down to my FB page. You will see humanity. Incredible.
Thursday afternoon: Still crying and working. I decided to leave a little bit earlier and headed to my local cafe. On the way, my mother called me and I said "I am off to get a little drunk! DON'T MAKE ME CRY ON THE UBAHN!" (I will talk to her on the weekend. I love you Mommy!). So I sat there at the cafe and responded to all the incredible messages I had received and ordered some wine and had a pity party. I had been through all the stages: anger, denial, disbelief... I hadn't reached acceptance yet. A dear friend who lives around the corner, who is battling a stomach flu, actually made her way over to the cafe and sat with me and listened to me go through all the stages of grief. And then I took one last sip. Pushed up my boobs and said "I'm going home".
Thursday night: I opened the door and the first thing I heard was "MOMMY" and the Kid came flying at me and knocked me over. I kept my tears in control. I paid our nanny (who is our angel and part of the family) and then the Kid and I sat down and watched Mickey's Christmas. He started giggling and snuggling and suddenly it effing hit me;
So what if he will have a label. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that he has a good life. I don't care what he chooses to do in his life. I care that he is happy. Sitting there, tickling him and hearing him laugh was all I needed to get smacked in the face and to wake the eff up. He is the Kid. He is perfect to me. And we will get through this. I will fight for him and I will fight for us because deep in my heart I know that whatever he chooses, he will excel in it. We will go on the 12th to the diagnosis centre, we will get the best care possible and sign up for therapy... But to be perfectly honest... I am his mother and I am going to make damn sure that not a day goes by that he doesn't smile or laugh... because... that is how I roll.
And once again, thank you to my family, my friends and to my husband (who doesn't read this blog) for all the support. I have finally reached acceptance. It's game time.
Wednesday morning: Drop the Kid off and am told that they might kick him out because his last temper tantrum was too insane. I stand there, while handing off my kid and I try to keep my shit together. Then the woman goes on to say that the Kid is lovely but there is something very wrong with him. I kiss the Kid good bye and walk out and proceed to call the Husband, crying. Then I go home and search desperately for another daycare. I find a Montessori one and am like "yes!". The woman writes me back within a couple of hours and she is awesome and over the interwebs, I immediately feel I have met a kindred spirit.
Wednesday afternoon: A speech therapist comes over and I can't be there, but the Husband is there with the Kid (I may or may not have yelled in the morning "Offer her some goddamn coffee!"). So, she shows up and I'm at work and I'm like a high squirrel, wondering what the hell is happening over at our place. Around 5:30, the Husband sends me a text and writes "It went well. She says he is a little bit delayed speaking. We will talk about it when you get home." I do the "Juice" dance. I am throwing the proverbial football down and doing the Chicken Dance. I am bouncing off the walls. I finish up work and head home.
Wednesday Night: I get home and then the Husband tells me more about the visit and it appears that his text was a text of lies. No, nothing went well. In fact, our child is not normal and needs therapy stat. I might be minimizing (is that a word?), but I lost my ever-loving shit. I was a Greek tragedy. The mascara ran and it ran down to my pits. I lost it. I really did. I went through all stages of grief. I could not stop crying.
Thursday morning: I woke up in tears. I made coffee in tears. I sobbed my way through an article about Tom Cruise and Laura Prepon. I couldn't stop crying. Got the Kid ready and I kept sobbing. I went to work and I sobbed. Due to a twist of fortunate fate, I met the speech therapist at work around 9 and we talked for about 45 minutes and it came to light that the Kid most likely has "autism". Well, I lost it again. I went back to the office and sobbed some more.. And let me stop here for a minute and say that I am so incredibly blessed that my boss and co-workers are so incredible... and I kept crying. And not pretty crying. More like deep gulps and sobbing and tears and it was all so very messy and I was wearing suede.
Still Thursday morning: I wrote my mom who wrote awesome emails back, I wrote on Facebook and aired "my dirty laundry". A friend texted me immediately and told me I'm Jane from Happy Endings which helped a lot...Let me just stop once again... First of all, I am pretty freaking open about my life because I feel that is how I roll. That is just who I am. I am open and I hope that maybe, through my stupid posts about self-tanning, that maybe, just maybe, I can make someone feel a little bit happier. I have nothing to hide besides my weight. I posted my situation on Facebook because I needed an outlet. Dear lord. I have never felt so incredibly loved in my whole entire life. I cannot believe the amount of private messages and messages I got. It was incredible. I was humbled and I once again realized that I have incredible taste in Facebook friends. So, ergo, I am awesome. I continue to believe in humanity and if anyone ever questions it, mosey on down to my FB page. You will see humanity. Incredible.
Thursday afternoon: Still crying and working. I decided to leave a little bit earlier and headed to my local cafe. On the way, my mother called me and I said "I am off to get a little drunk! DON'T MAKE ME CRY ON THE UBAHN!" (I will talk to her on the weekend. I love you Mommy!). So I sat there at the cafe and responded to all the incredible messages I had received and ordered some wine and had a pity party. I had been through all the stages: anger, denial, disbelief... I hadn't reached acceptance yet. A dear friend who lives around the corner, who is battling a stomach flu, actually made her way over to the cafe and sat with me and listened to me go through all the stages of grief. And then I took one last sip. Pushed up my boobs and said "I'm going home".
Thursday night: I opened the door and the first thing I heard was "MOMMY" and the Kid came flying at me and knocked me over. I kept my tears in control. I paid our nanny (who is our angel and part of the family) and then the Kid and I sat down and watched Mickey's Christmas. He started giggling and snuggling and suddenly it effing hit me;
So what if he will have a label. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that he has a good life. I don't care what he chooses to do in his life. I care that he is happy. Sitting there, tickling him and hearing him laugh was all I needed to get smacked in the face and to wake the eff up. He is the Kid. He is perfect to me. And we will get through this. I will fight for him and I will fight for us because deep in my heart I know that whatever he chooses, he will excel in it. We will go on the 12th to the diagnosis centre, we will get the best care possible and sign up for therapy... But to be perfectly honest... I am his mother and I am going to make damn sure that not a day goes by that he doesn't smile or laugh... because... that is how I roll.
And once again, thank you to my family, my friends and to my husband (who doesn't read this blog) for all the support. I have finally reached acceptance. It's game time.
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