The thing about parenting is that it gives us a unique ability to recognize and capture the true essence of unconditional love. When you have your first child, you think, “How could I possibly love anyone more than this?” For those parents who have more that one, when that second one was on the way, you, like me probably fell into a bit of a panic and feared that the second child couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to live up to the first. The amazement of the second child is in the ability of love to multiply itself. This is the beauty of being a mom or a dad.
But mothers…
A mother’s love begins way before she gets to look into her baby’s eyes. A mother’s love is in the little gurgling feeling around the third week of pregnancy that is usually the first solid clue of what is taking place in the body. I noticed it, but didn’t give it too much attention until after the fact. When I thought back, it made so much sense, and I realized that is the first opportunity we mothers have to connect with our babies. The second time around, I checked for that feeling that only a mother could understand.
A mother’s love is unique. She gets to learn things about her little one before anyone else. My daughter had personality for days in the womb… the exact same personality she still has to this day. She was and is dramatic, an attention seeker, full of energy, bossy as can be, and has quite a sense of humor. Every time she heard her father’s voice, she did joyful somersaults and what felt like cartwheels with great excitement. A child’s love for her father begins in utero also, but it takes a mother’s love to recognize it and provide a father with his first opportunity to bond with his child.
A mother’s love teaches her that anything is possible. People say it, but rarely believe it until that theory is tested out on them. Pregnancy is a woman’s greatest life lesson… from the first bout of morning sickness to the rib pain to the swollen ankles to the contractions… to that feeling after the first few pushes that getting that baby out just isn’t meant to be. We learn that only a superhero could pull that off, and once we realize that we are superwomen, we are able to convince ourselves that it can be done again.
There is a great sense of accomplishment in getting to the finish line of the first race in the triathlon of parenting (to be followed by child rearing and eighteen years later, letting go). And despite the blotchy, wrinkled skin and sometimes misshapen heads, they are always the most beautiful works of art we’ve ever been in the presence of.
It is a mother’s love that allows her to learn the balance between the patience and discipline that is needed to nurse and lose sleep, to calm and comfort, and to teach and survive through the terrible ones, twos, and threes, puberty, rebellion, and everything in between.
It is a mother’s love that guides the decisions she has to make from day one: To work or stay home, to breast or bottle feed, a nanny or daycare, public or private school… allowance, activities, chores, values, standards, rules… And then there are the tough decisions: How to teach them to handle failure, rejection, success, and pride, how to comfort them through disappointment, how to encourage them when they are ready to give up, how to motivate them to do better, how to keep them from succumbing to temptation, how to teach them to respect, value, and love themselves and others, how to instill in them a spirit of service, how to teach them forgiveness and trust, how to protect them from harm, and learning how and when to let them go.
There are some mother’s who have more than the average pressures and responsibilities when it comes to their children. The single mother often lacks the luxury of choice. Decisions that she has to make are often less about what to do as they are about how to do it against all odds. Mothers of children with illness or special needs define what a superwoman is. Indeed it takes super powers, super strength, and a super kind of love to do the work that they do. These mothers have hearts as mighty as the heavens and the will and perseverance of the world’s most noble warriors.
Another special kind of mom who often gets overlooked is the mom who has experienced the greatest kind of loss: The mom who did not get the chance to birth or nurse or change a diaper... the mom who missed out on the terrible twos and the first day of school... the mom whose child didn’t make it into her arms... or the mother who had to say goodbye before her angel had a chance to ask tough questions or talk back or grow up. This mother’s love is too precious for words.
There is nothing on earth like a mother’s love. It is a love that nurtures and endures like no other. It guides the world and lights the way. The love of a mother is as important as air, as necessary as water. A mother’s love is infinite and deeper than anything.
Choice Words
Every day I make a choice to:
See the glass as half full
Keep an open mind
Learn something new
Do something good for myself
Do all I can for others
Listen to a friend
Add to the lives of those I care about
Surround myself with positive energy
Accept people without judging
Be kind to others
Be careful and kind to the planet
Be mindful of my impact
Strengthen my family
Honor where I come from
Respect all that I have been given
Nurture my children
Teach them to do for others
Instill in them strong values
Lead them by example
Guide them to greatness
Love unconditionally
Support my significant other
Be more patient
Forgive
Get back up and soldier on
Walk away
Stay
Humble myself
Pray and meditate
Center my thoughts
Think before I speak
Take action toward my goals
Practice what I preach
Recognize my own beauty
Love myself with all of my imperfections
Treat my body like a temple
Be responsible for my own happiness
Love more and fear less
Appreciate my journey
Grow better and wiser
… or NOT.
The Mommy Diaries - Autism (Part 2): Autism and the Single Mom
My son was officially diagnosed on the autism spectrum with Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS) at the age of three, after three years of demonstrating abnormal behaviors and development. As if the process of getting an autism diagnosis is not difficult in and of itself, getting it done as a single parent takes things to another level.
During the process, Elijah had tubes placed in his ears, got kicked out of preschool, started occupational therapy for the symptoms that also fell under the Sensory Processing Disorder diagnosis, and took a great deal of time and attention away from his big sister.
Single parents dealing with this diagnosis bare all of the added responsibilities on their shoulders, and often have little to no support to help them get through it - all of the journaling, all of the doctors visits, all of the meetings with teachers, all of the time off of work, all of the out-of-pocket expenses, all of the worry, all of the guilt, and all of the tears.
After three years of knowing what was coming, I was surprised at how unprepared I was when those words got handed down to us. I walked in there hoping to be proven wrong, but instead, left the doctor’s office with a life-changing and life-long label on my son, a handful of prescriptions for therapies, and a list of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapists, dieticians and nutritionists, financial advisors, support groups, special needs schools, and other resources.
I cried and called my mom on the hour-long drive home, and hit the drive-thru of the kids’ favorite fast food and milkshake eatery for dinner and dessert. I looked through the information packet and remembered thinking how great it was that I had all of this information and that I had done so much research already. I held my little boy for as long as he would let me (I doubt it was even five minutes) and decided to just breathe for the rest of the day and not start making any calls until the next day.
The next day turned into a couple of weeks as I found myself in denial, riddled with guilt, and overwhelmed with having to explain his diagnosis to friends and family. I looked through the information packet several times a day, trying to figure out where to start. It was pretty straight forward, but when I saw it sitting there in front of me, it seemed like more than I could handle.
Occupational therapy twice a week, speech therapy once a week, hippo, aquatic, and music therapies once a week, ABA therapy between 25 and 40 hours a week (at a cost of about $160 per hour), family therapy, a mix of special needs and regular preschool, an expensive organic diet… When would I have time for my 40-50 hour workweek at the job that keeps the roof over our heads? How was I going to pay for this, especially if I have to work less? What about my daughter and her afterschool activities and quality time with mommy? (Clearly, a Disney vacation was never going to fit in to the equation.) And why was almost every resource on the list an hour away from our home?
After a few pep talks from my mother, I started making my way through the list, which turned out to be pretty discouraging. One place after another got crossed off because they had no place for him in their schedules, the funding for their program had run out, they weren’t covered by insurance and their hourly rate was far beyond what I could afford, or they were simply too far out of the way.
After awhile, I started to make some progress. I found an ABA therapist, but I had to work the services into an already tight budget. My son was already in daycare and my daughter was in after-school care, which any parent knows can eat your paycheck by itself. Canceling cable TV and internet service, getting rid of my home phone, and reducing the minutes on my cell phone were the first options. But I found myself still having to choose between the organic diet and the behavior therapy or compromising on both.
The biggest frustration any parent faces is not being able to help their child. There is no bigger feeling of failure than looking at my son’s needs and not being able to provide them. These senses of frustration and failure quickly turn into depression when you have no one to share the burden. After awhile, you learn to repress all of that and just try to get through, one day at a time.
With all of the treatments available, you still won’t see changes and improvements in your child right away. You experience failure after failure with behavioral and OT techniques before your child has a breakthrough. And if your autistic genius is anything like mine, he or she seems to always be two steps ahead of you and will just create a new behavior to replace the old one.
If you’re anything like me, the behavior therapist telling you to take five minutes for yourself, even if you have to lock yourself in your room, is much easier said than done. And if you’re child is anything like Elijah, he or she will bang on that door the entire five minutes (while you cry) because of their strong need to control their environment.
Every day of post-diagnosis life, you will deal with the frustrations of not being able to “fix” your kid. There are times when your child is so out of control, it becomes painful to watch, yet nothing you do makes it any better. Elijah’s developmental pediatrician made an interesting observation and did a great job of explaining it to me. Elijah goes from being happy or excited to being angry or upset without ever stopping in the middle. There is no progression between polar opposite emotions, and this goes on all day, every day. He has no control over this lack of emotional homeostasis whatsoever.
In order to try to control his emotions, he tries to control his environment. He will come sit down on my lap and say “Hi, mommy.” But instead of letting me respond on my own, he will tell me to say, “Hi, Elijah. How are you?” If he knows what I’m going to say and that he will like what I say, he will not get angry or upset. And if he can control everything in his environment, he can stay in one emotional state without the physical exhaustion of emotionally bouncing around like a ping pong ball.
The biggest parts of my job as Elijah’s parent are trying to predict his reactions to environmental stimuli, and trying to prevent him from having those agonizing shifts in emotion, while trying to negotiate him away from emotional extremes and closer to the middle. All of his other behaviors are the result of this central issue.
In addition to all of this, you have to be prepared to fight for and defend your child to almost everyone who takes issue with his or her “odd” or “unacceptable” behaviors. Autism families get kicked out of movie theaters, restaurants, and off of planes. We get judged in store aisles when our children have meltdowns. We get judged in our communities, and by family members, friends, educators, and employers. We get judged by our other children, who truly get the short end of the stick.
And the single parent of an autistic child has to take more than anyone. This is the parent who likely has to choose between their job and government assistance as a means of providing services for their child. This is the parent whose child is more likely to slip between the cracks in the first place. This is the parent who has the smallest support system in place. This is the parent who has the fewest shoulders to cry on and no equal hand to hold through it all.
During the process, Elijah had tubes placed in his ears, got kicked out of preschool, started occupational therapy for the symptoms that also fell under the Sensory Processing Disorder diagnosis, and took a great deal of time and attention away from his big sister.
Single parents dealing with this diagnosis bare all of the added responsibilities on their shoulders, and often have little to no support to help them get through it - all of the journaling, all of the doctors visits, all of the meetings with teachers, all of the time off of work, all of the out-of-pocket expenses, all of the worry, all of the guilt, and all of the tears.
After three years of knowing what was coming, I was surprised at how unprepared I was when those words got handed down to us. I walked in there hoping to be proven wrong, but instead, left the doctor’s office with a life-changing and life-long label on my son, a handful of prescriptions for therapies, and a list of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapists, dieticians and nutritionists, financial advisors, support groups, special needs schools, and other resources.
I cried and called my mom on the hour-long drive home, and hit the drive-thru of the kids’ favorite fast food and milkshake eatery for dinner and dessert. I looked through the information packet and remembered thinking how great it was that I had all of this information and that I had done so much research already. I held my little boy for as long as he would let me (I doubt it was even five minutes) and decided to just breathe for the rest of the day and not start making any calls until the next day.
The next day turned into a couple of weeks as I found myself in denial, riddled with guilt, and overwhelmed with having to explain his diagnosis to friends and family. I looked through the information packet several times a day, trying to figure out where to start. It was pretty straight forward, but when I saw it sitting there in front of me, it seemed like more than I could handle.
Occupational therapy twice a week, speech therapy once a week, hippo, aquatic, and music therapies once a week, ABA therapy between 25 and 40 hours a week (at a cost of about $160 per hour), family therapy, a mix of special needs and regular preschool, an expensive organic diet… When would I have time for my 40-50 hour workweek at the job that keeps the roof over our heads? How was I going to pay for this, especially if I have to work less? What about my daughter and her afterschool activities and quality time with mommy? (Clearly, a Disney vacation was never going to fit in to the equation.) And why was almost every resource on the list an hour away from our home?
After a few pep talks from my mother, I started making my way through the list, which turned out to be pretty discouraging. One place after another got crossed off because they had no place for him in their schedules, the funding for their program had run out, they weren’t covered by insurance and their hourly rate was far beyond what I could afford, or they were simply too far out of the way.
After awhile, I started to make some progress. I found an ABA therapist, but I had to work the services into an already tight budget. My son was already in daycare and my daughter was in after-school care, which any parent knows can eat your paycheck by itself. Canceling cable TV and internet service, getting rid of my home phone, and reducing the minutes on my cell phone were the first options. But I found myself still having to choose between the organic diet and the behavior therapy or compromising on both.
The biggest frustration any parent faces is not being able to help their child. There is no bigger feeling of failure than looking at my son’s needs and not being able to provide them. These senses of frustration and failure quickly turn into depression when you have no one to share the burden. After awhile, you learn to repress all of that and just try to get through, one day at a time.
With all of the treatments available, you still won’t see changes and improvements in your child right away. You experience failure after failure with behavioral and OT techniques before your child has a breakthrough. And if your autistic genius is anything like mine, he or she seems to always be two steps ahead of you and will just create a new behavior to replace the old one.
If you’re anything like me, the behavior therapist telling you to take five minutes for yourself, even if you have to lock yourself in your room, is much easier said than done. And if you’re child is anything like Elijah, he or she will bang on that door the entire five minutes (while you cry) because of their strong need to control their environment.
Every day of post-diagnosis life, you will deal with the frustrations of not being able to “fix” your kid. There are times when your child is so out of control, it becomes painful to watch, yet nothing you do makes it any better. Elijah’s developmental pediatrician made an interesting observation and did a great job of explaining it to me. Elijah goes from being happy or excited to being angry or upset without ever stopping in the middle. There is no progression between polar opposite emotions, and this goes on all day, every day. He has no control over this lack of emotional homeostasis whatsoever.
In order to try to control his emotions, he tries to control his environment. He will come sit down on my lap and say “Hi, mommy.” But instead of letting me respond on my own, he will tell me to say, “Hi, Elijah. How are you?” If he knows what I’m going to say and that he will like what I say, he will not get angry or upset. And if he can control everything in his environment, he can stay in one emotional state without the physical exhaustion of emotionally bouncing around like a ping pong ball.
The biggest parts of my job as Elijah’s parent are trying to predict his reactions to environmental stimuli, and trying to prevent him from having those agonizing shifts in emotion, while trying to negotiate him away from emotional extremes and closer to the middle. All of his other behaviors are the result of this central issue.
In addition to all of this, you have to be prepared to fight for and defend your child to almost everyone who takes issue with his or her “odd” or “unacceptable” behaviors. Autism families get kicked out of movie theaters, restaurants, and off of planes. We get judged in store aisles when our children have meltdowns. We get judged in our communities, and by family members, friends, educators, and employers. We get judged by our other children, who truly get the short end of the stick.
And the single parent of an autistic child has to take more than anyone. This is the parent who likely has to choose between their job and government assistance as a means of providing services for their child. This is the parent whose child is more likely to slip between the cracks in the first place. This is the parent who has the smallest support system in place. This is the parent who has the fewest shoulders to cry on and no equal hand to hold through it all.
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