He bounces on tip-toe, waving his little arms like a wee birdie.
He’s excited. The story lady doesn’t quite know what to think of him.
He’s an odd one, she thinks.
He kneels close to see the pictures, bouncing on his knees.
Can the other little boys or girls see over his bobbing head?
Can they hear the story through his myriad of questions?
My boy. My special boy.
He has a dramatic flair.
He’s maybe a little goofy.
He’s a lover
and a fighter.
And he struggles. He struggles with not being “normal.” He struggles with things that most of us take for granted.
Being in a big group of other kids is a struggle. Sitting still for several minutes at time is another struggle. Following the rules when they conflict with his own wants/needs is yet another struggle.
And then maybe he’s a little hungry. And a little tired. And a little bored.
He’s trying sooo hard. Sometimes his best isn’t good enough.
And sometimes he’s not capable of his best.
His physical reality will never be “normal.”
I knew that on the day he was born. It’s slowly dawning on me the full impact that his physical reality and the experiences caused by it have had on him.
On who he is. On how he sees himself. On how he responds to the world around him.
In a word, he’s intense.
He loves ferociously.
When you say good-bye, he never wants to let you go. Maybe he’ll never see you again. Maybe on some deep level he knows just how fragile our temporal world is.
I’ve seen people who love him practically scraped him off and run away…it’s too much.
They can’t take the intensity of his love. They can’t deal with with it.
I understand. I really do.
He can never let go.
But then there’s the other side. Don’t ever make him mad. Think David Banner/Incredible Hulk mad.
The same 50 pound boy who couldn’t stop hugging and kissing you can turn into a lean mean powerhouse in a minute.
Sometimes It takes every ounce of strength I have to get him back under control..
Then it’s I who can never let go.
He’s exquisitely sensitive. He reads your looks and breaks to pieces if big bro so much as glares at him.
It’s hard. Sometimes I fail him.
Sometimes I want to hide him from those prying eyes of people who don’t get him, so he can’t be hurt.
Sometimes I’m embarrassed and want to hide myself.
Sometimes I lose my patience. I raise my voice.
He’s on to me, though. He knows I don’t mean it. He knows I’m just mad. He knows mad. He doesn’t take it seriously.
It doesn’t help, anyway, getting mad. It seems I was never really taught how to regulate my own temper. Now I’m trying to teach this little guy how to regulate his?
Sound like the blind leading the blind?
Good thing we have faith in a Higher Power, ya think? Because left on my own, I know I can’t do it.
I’ve tried. I tend to forget to ask for help. Sometimes I mistakenly think that God dropped my children into my lap and just left them there
But I know that He created Peter as he is.
He knows Peter as he is.
He loves Peter, as he is.
And He knows what Peter needs. For some reason He chose me to be Peter’s mama.
He must know that we need each other.
But it’s so hard sometimes, really hard.
Time to dry my eyes and go to bed.
.Is there a child with special needs in your life?