I love my poop makers. #2

When X-Man was nine months, I became pregnant with the youngest in my family, T.  (I was going to call him the Baby but he is the farthest from that description.)  When I found out I was pregnant again, I cried and cried and banished My Dark Knight to the couch forever, or until he had a vasectomy.  I already had a baby who cried and never slept.  I did not, could not, go through this times two.

The Daughter was present when I delivered T and she has forever stated she will adopt, this experience just wrote it in stone.  I have the best OB/GYN and he had her front and center in the middle of all the action.  She was mortified!  It was great!

T slept through the night very early on.  He was independent and happy.  He rarely cried.  He was very advanced in developmental skills.  It was so different from the child previous.  Thank God!
T helped X-Man learn new skills and we saw improvement with him since having T.  He was X-Man's first friend.

T was very different from any of the other children.  He had rhythm before he could crawl.  This boy loves music!  He is feisty.  And by feisty, I mean a tornado ripping through our home, taking control of everything and everyone in his path.  He knows what he wants and he will let you know.

I took X-Man and T to the zoo when T was a year and a half.  I had bought X-Man a grilled cheese sandwich and some fries for T.  X-Man was crying because the grilled cheese was cut in half and he wanted it uncut.  T was eyeing a goose who was coming close.  The goose stole a fry.  T grabbed the goose by the throat screaming, "that's my fry" at the goose.  The goose flapped his wings trying to get away but T held on.  We were quite the sight at the zoo.  One child crying because he didn't want his grilled cheese cut and one wrestling a goose.

T is very confident he is the best at everything.  He loves a challenge.  He will try anything, especially if it is dangerous.  I can barely believe he has not broken a bone or needed stitches.  He is a talker.  He will let everyone around him know what is on his mind.   He makes friends with everyone he encounters.  And he drives me crazy!

T is probably the child with the personality closest to mine.  The Daughter is a close second but she is more reserved.  T is sassy.  T talks back.  T speaks his mind.  T is a lot of personality.  He makes me madder than a hatter.  I believe there is only room for one of us in this house.  One minute he makes me want to move out and the very next minute he is exactly what I needed.  He can be cuddling with you one minute and turn to fart on you the next.  I love this kid!

T has made my life such an adventure.  Some adventures are not ones I wanted to go on but I am better because of him.  He has helped with X-Man more than anyone in the house could have done. And, boy, T is cute!  He was an ugly baby but has turned into a beautiful boy.  T has helped me to remember to love everyone, even if they do make me crazy.

I love my poop makers. Part one...

My X-Man is 8 years old.  He is the sweetest, most genuine person I have ever met.  I love him to pieces, but he is difficult.  X-Man has Autism with many typical symptoms plus medical issues with his eyes. So, basically he has no social skills and limited vision.  He is the one running into you at the store and doesn't say excuse me.  :)

He was a terrible baby.  He cried all the time.  He rarely slept.  There was nothing diagnosed to get help for.  I had to hold him constantly.  Really, constantly.  He didn't want to be with anyone else, ever.  Not even, My Dark Knight, AKA My Sexy Man (which is what he would like to be referred to from now on in my blog).

Parents I barely knew would notice I was tired and give me unsolicited advice how I could be the parents he needs and then he would be a better baby.  Thank you for that advice (insert sarcastic tone here).  I had done nothing but read books and talk to professionals to find out what I could do to help him.  I had already been successful with one child so far, what was wrong with me for this child?

I would take him to church and be asked to leave by nursery workers because he wouldn't stop crying.  I would attend mommy groups and be told something was wrong with him because he didn't walk, crawl, talk, whatever other baby thing, on time.  I would go to the grocery store and checkers would ask me what was wrong with my baby.

X-Man was 2 ish when I really started making social work educated guesses he might have autism.  I spoke with the pediatrician, got him evaluated for early intervention programs, and got a plan in place.  Great!  Something I didn't realize as a parent or a social worker is other parents suddenly inspect everything you do regarding parenting a child with special needs.  Yep, it is true.  I am suddenly the worst parent in the world and clearly I shouldn't be blessed with children.

Everything I fed my son was wrong.  The shoes I bought were wrong.  The toys he played with were inappropriate.  Everything was criticized.  "Thank you parent who does not have a special needs child for your advice about how I am raising my son wrong.  It sure helps me make it through the day."

Conversation with a parent one day:
Me:  Your son is so adorable when he runs around.  He seems to really enjoy his new found talent.
Other Mom:  Why doesn't your son run yet?  He is 6 months older than my son.
Me:  Well, he will get there.  He is always learning new skills.
OM:  Too bad you never sent him to daycare.  He would have been more advanced and hitting his milestones.
Me:  We felt keeping him home with us was the best decision for him.
OM:  You will regret it when he is unable to make it in a good college.
Me:  I will worry about college in about 15 years or so.
OM:  He could end up on welfare if you don't start planning his future now.
Me:  K, thanks for the advice.  Gotta go home now.

These type of conversations happen all the time.  X-Man is 8 years old and I hear about what I need to do to be a better parent often for the last 8 years.  All the time!  I even get the comment, if I wouldn't have immunized my son, he would be "normal".  Nope, all this started way before he was immunized.  Thanks for making me feel like a child abuser, though.

I also feel like a tool because I can become jealous of other parents.  "Oh, your son hasn't had a potty accident since he was 3?"  That is awesome.  My 8 year old had 8 accidents last week.  I want to get to a place where I am not cleaning up poop every day.  "That is great that your daughter likes to try new foods."  X-Man has about 6 foods he will eat.  Yes, I have tried all the different methods trying to get him to eat.  We are even on a waiting list for food therapy.  Apparently there are many children out there who don't eat.  I have not met any of them.  All the children I meet eat everything on their plates.  "Your son picked out his clothes today!  I can tell."  My son refuses to make a clothing decision, even a bad one.  Plus, if I choose clothing that just "doesn't feel right" we get to make a change, often.  I am jealous which makes me angry which makes me cry.  Thankfully he reminds me why he is the best 8 year old ever.

X-Man is brutally honest with me.  I need that sometimes.  He loves unconditionally, unlike the other poop makers in my house.  He is an expert in natural disasters, sprinklers, motorcycles, sharks, airplanes, and insects.  He is so funny!  X-Man has the driest sense of humor, so pay attention.  He likes his schedule which makes me warm inside.  He is a very smart cookie and he loves cookies.  He is gentle-hearted and humane.  He loves documentaries and non-fiction.  He reminds me every day why I love being a parent and why it is such a hard job all at the same time.

I think the reason for this post is to give you some background information plus to let you know it is so hard being a parent of a child with special needs.  Please support those parents instead of giving advice.  I am pretty sure most parents of special needs have read and tried everything out there to help their little ones.  They just need support and coffee, most importantly, coffee, or is it support?

My Sexy Man doesn't like his name!

So, after my post regarding Andy Gibb, My Sexy Man decided he didn't like that name for my blog.  Apparently, it is "too literal" and doesn't flow off the tongue.  He would like a change.  I decided I would let you guys vote on his blog name.  Some of these suggestions are his and some are mine.

Please vote in the comments of this blog post.  You may also add your suggestions in the comments.

1.  My Dark Knight

2.  The Man

3.  My Rock God


Thanks!

Andy Gibb made me change my husband plans.

I knew at a very young age I wanted to be married by the time I was 21.  I am not sure why 21 was the magical age.  I was also going to have 5 boys and no girls and my house would be spotless.  I was going to drive a red, fast car and always wear high heels.  I was also going to be doctor.  My husband was going to be a musician and his name was Andy Gibb.

 I started making my marriage plans to Andy Gibb at the age of 5.  I was very detailed on what I wanted in my marriage and Andy's role in my life.  Everything was planned and Andy Gibb died.  I was so upset.  I cried and threw things and ripped up all my notebooks with my perfect marriage.  I also missed a day of school because I was just too sad to attend.

I decided I would change up my plans a bit but I was still settled on marrying a musician.  While watching MTV one day, back when they played music videos, I saw a set of twins with flowing blonde hair.  I have found my new husband, Gunner Nelson.  I picked Gunner because his name was very cool.

(What is with the blondes?  I always imagined my children with very dark hair and you don't have that with two blonde parents.)

The Gunner Nelson romance fizzled quickly as I outgrew my childhood expectations and more bad boy musicians showed up in the music scene.  I dated some guys who were nice guys, some, not so nice guys.  I became a single parent when I was 22 (never married).  None of these things were in my plans.

After a strange meeting with a guy, my roommate, and the internet, I went on a date with a single father.  I picked him up for our date.  I have an active imagination and felt I would be less likely to be murdered if I drove.  I watched him walk toward me and all I could think was, this guy is going to be a jerk.  He walked in a cocky way, he was tall, dark, and handsome which all RomComs point out is the bad boy.  This was not going to work.  I need a positive male example for The Daughter.

We went for a hike and to dinner.  He was very funny!  I talked the whole time due to my nerves and he listened. I played Neil Diamond in the car and he didn't complain.  I was sure this was a fluke.  I have met men who were good at first and changed over time.  He didn't change, except he expressed his dislike for Neil.  Boo!

Well, it worked out it seems.  My Sexy Man and I have 2 boys together and have been together for a long time now.  Is it perfect, you ask?  It is perfect for me (I would say it is perfect for us, but I didn't ask his opinion.).  I have to work very hard on the relationship because I can be difficult.  He is so easy going and makes me laugh every day.  He has also been my biggest supporter this year, Becoming Me.  I become anxious when I know he is reading this blog.  I care about what he thinks.  (If you know me, you know this is a big deal.)  BONUS:  He is a musician! Check!

So, Thank You Andy Gibb for Shadow Dancing and I Just Want to Be Your Everything!  Thank you for helping me change my plans.

Sorry you died, though.

Pneumonia is a terrible thing to catch.

I struggled with what to write about next, having so many thoughts running through my mind.  I was also feeling vulnerable from my last post and needed a moment to regroup.  :)  I am also writing this while I have children jumping around me and being demanding of my time.  My thoughts may seem all over the place.

My birthday is in April.  I love birthdays!  The last birthday party I had pre-adulthood (don't tell me if this is not a real word), was when I was 8 years old.  I have had many memorable celebrations facilitated by friends, or my Sexy Man.  My parents did not remember my birthday after my siblings moved out.  I was fine with it growing up but as an adult with children, I want nothing more than to make birthdays special, including my own.

My dad called me the week of my birthday this year stating he wanted to take me and my family out to dinner for my birthday.  My parents have been asking often when my birthday was this year.
Mom:  Your birthday is in August, right?
Me:  No, April.
Mom:  Isn't The Daughter's birthday in April?
Me:  No, August.
(This conversation happened often.)
I was excited to celebrate my birthday with my parents.  I had plans to go bowling with my friends on my birthday and so we planned dinner the day before.

I had been having allergy issues for a few weeks, which is common.  No matter what medications I took, I felt worse.  By the time I went to dinner with the family, I could hardly stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time.  I could not figure out what was wrong with me.

The Family and I went to a steak house for dinner and my mom made inappropriate comments about our server, my dad laughed at all the crazy things my kids did and said, and I sat quietly eating my food.  My parents told The Daughter about me being a wonderful child.  I liked to tease my parents and siblings stating I was always the favorite and the best child ever.  My parents confirmed it that night, well, part of it anyways.  It was a fun time.  My parents hugged me after the dinner and gave me a card for my birthday.  I do not remember the last time I hugged my parents.  My parents were never affectionate.  

The next night I went bowling with friends and was only able to play one game and spent the rest of the time putting my head on the table.  It was a fun time, but I did feel terrible.

The day after my birthday I went to the doctor and found out I had pneumonia. I was pretty sure the doctor misdiagnosed me.  Apparently, the doctor was correct.  I hate it when I am proven wrong!  I really enjoy being correct.  I didn't start feeling like myself fully again until September.  It was a terrible illness.  The doctor made it very clear that people die from this illness if not taken care of properly and I already have a compromised immune system so I needed to be diligent.

I, clearly, survived pneumonia.  I had to be willing to allow others to help me.  My Sexy Man had to take care of the kids and dinners and cleaning and continue to work while I laid in bed.  I found out I need others, even when I am not ill.  I am not the only one who can do everything.  It was a scary, yet reassuring, thing to learn.  This was something that I referred back to many times this year.

The first person I fell, head-over-heels, in love with.

My daughter!  I have to give a bit of a back story regarding The Daughter to understand why she helped me, Become Me, this year. (Please note this post is very difficult for me to write.)

1985:  This is the year my last sibling left the house, leaving me to be an "only" child.  I was 8 years old.  My siblings are much older than I am and they took care of my needs every day.  My parents were alcoholics, I still love them, but they were either working or at the bar.  I had to learn to take care of myself quickly.  I did not have any idea what it looked like to be raised by parents.

Jump to 1999:  This is the year I gave birth to The Daughter.  I fell in love the second she was born.  I was young, single, and unprepared to be a mother.  I believed that since I raised myself, I could raise a child of my own.  Apparently, having a good role-model in your parents, assists in being a good parent yourself.  I believe I do a pretty good job, but I really struggle being an ideal parent.  I am unconventional.

2014:  I was in a meeting for work and muted my phone.  After my meeting that went long because I am too chatty, I checked my phone and I had 6 missed calls and voice mails from the high school, 2 texts from The Daughter's older half-brother, and 2 missed calls from an unknown number.  Strange, I am usually not this popular.  I checked the voice mails and the texts and they stated I needed to call the high school.  As I was calling the high school, I just decided to drive to the school at the same time.

The Daughter was going to kill herself and had a plan she was going to follow through with after school that day.  She texted her older half-brother something that concerned him and he immediately went to his school counselor who called The Daughter's school, and so on.  She had been cutting, a lot.  She was struggling with life.  I was clueless, no, ignorant.  I thought she was a grumpy teenager.  She was athletic, on varsity sports as a freshman.  I was pretty sure her life couldn't get much better as a freshman in high school.  PLUS, I am a social worker!  The signs of suicide go with the job and I could't see them in my own child.

I failed as a parent, not because she was depressed, but because I didn't even notice.  I wasn't available to answer the phone when the school called because I was too busy talking about nothing important.  What a selfish human being I have become.

After I got her stabilized and an appropriate plan in place, I re-evaluated me as a parent.  I started working on not being chatty when I was working.  I decided if I wanted to shoot the breeze, I could go out for coffee or whatever outside of work.  Work time was to focus on the people I assist.  I looked at all the times I was being selfish as a parent.  I am not in survival mode anymore like I needed to be in the 80's.  I don't need to think of myself first anymore, but I have chosen to.  I consciously think how to put others first, specifically my family.

My Sexy Man is the most giving and unselfish person I have ever met.  I assume Mother Theresa was very giving and unselfish but I never met her.  I am lucky to have someone who stands by me every day in spite of my selfishness.  Being my better half has got to be trying.  Bonus:  He is a great example of how to be a better parent!  I have been trying to be more like him this year.

This was step two at Becoming Me.

Becoming me, kicking and screaming.

I had to grow up this year.  I had to become a responsible adult.  I had to make decisions I never thought I would have to make.  I am not impressed.

I love my family!  I love how my family functioned up to this year.  I have a loving, intelligent, funny man, a sassy teen, two crazy boys, a brooding step-teen, parents I was dependent on, and semi-accepting in-laws.  What a wonderful life!

I am a social worker, which is a rewarding and stressful profession.  I see that I make a difference in my small world, not so much in the big picture, and that is okay.

Flashback to May 2013:  (conversation at a birthday party when I started to realize not everyone thinks I am as awesome as I think I am)

Me:  I am thinking it is about time I finish my master's degree.

Sister-in-law:  Social work is a waste of time, money , and education.  Social work should not exist.

Me: (picking up jaw off the ground trying to mutter something intelligent) Really?

Mother-in-law:  I agree with sister-in-law.

Me: Really? (the intelligent comments are flowing, as you can see)

Husband of the mother-in-law:  Social workers take the tax payers hard earned money to help poor people to become dependent on welfare.

(let me interject here that I do work in the demographic of adults receiving Medicaid services, so he may feel I am fostering dependence, but, really, I assist others to become more independent)

Me:  Really? (as you can see, I am full of intelligent information defending the profession I love)

As the tears start to flow, I excuse myself to my car to look busy doing something.  I have just been hit in the face with the reality not everyone thinks as highly of my profession as I do.  Oh blissful ignorance!  I REALLY believed everyone in the world thought social work was a beautiful profession full of selfless human beings.  I had to change my thought process of social work and re-evaluate my place in this profession, i.e. what do I believe and why.

This was the beginning of Becoming Me.  Little did I know, it was the beginning of a new view on life as a whole, not just social work.