Ergotherapy and the Kid
What is ergotherapy? Hell if I know. I jest. Kind of. After our happy fun good time at the diagnosis center, our child psychologist strongly recommended ergotherapy for the Kid. So did our pediatrician. Apparently ergotherapy concentrates on fine motor skills and is somewhat equivalent to the "floor time" that is so popular for autistic children in the States. So, we finally found a place last month at the practical time of 11 a.m. on a Wednesday and booked 10 sessions. I missed the first two but yesterday I was able to finally attend a session.
Now, since we have moved, the Kid has not had any freak outs. He has been much more agreeable and just seems to be in a happier place. I also have noticed that he is making a lot more eye contact with me on a regular basis (this is big). This week we started half days at the daycare as well and I think this, albeit a pain in the ass, will make a huge difference as well. So yesterday I put on my working mother but good mother outfit and headed to therapy with the Kid. He babbled as we walked and periodically yelled "MOOOOREE COOKIES!" To which I threw them at him at rapid fire to keep him contained in his stroller. We arrived and walked into the center where the Husband met us. He informed me that I had to remove my shoes. Crap. Flared jeans with no heels is a terrible look. Oh well. The sacrifices I make.
The Kid seemed to be chill with the place and I could tell he was looking forward to starting the session. How can I tell? He wasn't yelling at anyone. Just after 11 we walked into the room (or rather gym-like room which had me reaching for a paper bag as memories of rope climbing in gym class came flooding back. Dodge ball? Fun. Climbing a rash-inducing rope attached to the ceiling by what appears to be shoddy workmanship 30 feet above? Not fun). Anywho. He went straight for the swing like board and the therapist started to sing and rock him back and forth. My first instinct was to ask the Husband "How much are we paying for these sessions?" and then a minute later, the tears came. From me. Wearing a lot of eyeliner. To my shock, the Kid was interacting with the therapist - staring at her straight in the eyes and smiling. He was engaged and it was awesome. I'm starting to cry again. Sorry.
After about 10 minutes of swinging, the Kid spied those big block things that are filled with the feces of rats (I'm guessing) and started to build a tower. He got frustrated and the therapist let him work through it. He got upset and looked at me and yelled "MOMMMMMMMY!". Now, "Mommy" in his language means several different things. It is all in the intonation.
MooooOmmy: I want a cookie but I know I can't have one.
MOOOOmmmy: Change my diaper, slave woman.
MooooOOOOMY: Where the hell are you and why are you not beside me at all times, praising me?
Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy: Don't know what I want but I am sure you will figure it out.
MOMMMMMY!: Take care of this problem and pronto.
So I had to fight every urge not to come over. It helped that the Husband restrained me. The 50 minutes flew by and the Kid was happy. I was happy. The Husband was happy. I still don't what the hell this therapy is about but I don't care because I am seeing a difference.
In a couple of weeks we have a meeting with the therapist to talk about his progress and what we can do at home with him. I am going to ask if bribing is an acceptable form of parenting. I'm going out on a limb here... but I am going to say it is not. I might be clairvoyant. Watch this space.
That is the latest update on the Kid. He woke up in a great mood this morning and sat on my lap as I did my make up. It was great fun but I kind of look like Bette Davis from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Worth it.
Now, since we have moved, the Kid has not had any freak outs. He has been much more agreeable and just seems to be in a happier place. I also have noticed that he is making a lot more eye contact with me on a regular basis (this is big). This week we started half days at the daycare as well and I think this, albeit a pain in the ass, will make a huge difference as well. So yesterday I put on my working mother but good mother outfit and headed to therapy with the Kid. He babbled as we walked and periodically yelled "MOOOOREE COOKIES!" To which I threw them at him at rapid fire to keep him contained in his stroller. We arrived and walked into the center where the Husband met us. He informed me that I had to remove my shoes. Crap. Flared jeans with no heels is a terrible look. Oh well. The sacrifices I make.
The Kid seemed to be chill with the place and I could tell he was looking forward to starting the session. How can I tell? He wasn't yelling at anyone. Just after 11 we walked into the room (or rather gym-like room which had me reaching for a paper bag as memories of rope climbing in gym class came flooding back. Dodge ball? Fun. Climbing a rash-inducing rope attached to the ceiling by what appears to be shoddy workmanship 30 feet above? Not fun). Anywho. He went straight for the swing like board and the therapist started to sing and rock him back and forth. My first instinct was to ask the Husband "How much are we paying for these sessions?" and then a minute later, the tears came. From me. Wearing a lot of eyeliner. To my shock, the Kid was interacting with the therapist - staring at her straight in the eyes and smiling. He was engaged and it was awesome. I'm starting to cry again. Sorry.
After about 10 minutes of swinging, the Kid spied those big block things that are filled with the feces of rats (I'm guessing) and started to build a tower. He got frustrated and the therapist let him work through it. He got upset and looked at me and yelled "MOMMMMMMMY!". Now, "Mommy" in his language means several different things. It is all in the intonation.
MooooOmmy: I want a cookie but I know I can't have one.
MOOOOmmmy: Change my diaper, slave woman.
MooooOOOOMY: Where the hell are you and why are you not beside me at all times, praising me?
Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy: Don't know what I want but I am sure you will figure it out.
MOMMMMMY!: Take care of this problem and pronto.
So I had to fight every urge not to come over. It helped that the Husband restrained me. The 50 minutes flew by and the Kid was happy. I was happy. The Husband was happy. I still don't what the hell this therapy is about but I don't care because I am seeing a difference.
In a couple of weeks we have a meeting with the therapist to talk about his progress and what we can do at home with him. I am going to ask if bribing is an acceptable form of parenting. I'm going out on a limb here... but I am going to say it is not. I might be clairvoyant. Watch this space.
That is the latest update on the Kid. He woke up in a great mood this morning and sat on my lap as I did my make up. It was great fun but I kind of look like Bette Davis from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Worth it.
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| Definitely one of my top 5 reasons for getting out of bed in the morning. |
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