My own little SIB

I am a pretty honest person. And I really like to share and spread awareness about autism, and what it means for us. But there are certain things that people don't want to hear about. Enter self injurious behaviors. Or, in the autism world, SIB. 

There's really nothing cute about a kid beating the snot out of himself. It's disturbing, really.

According to this fancy article in Psychology Research and Behavior Management 

"Researchers looking at lifetime prevalence in those with autism spectrum disorders suggest that approximately 50% engage in some form of SIB".

Well we've done about everything under the sun over the past year to make this stop, and now Waylon is on a new medication and in a pretty intense therapy program to try to get this under control. The therapists review data daily to help them understand when/how/why the SIB is occurring- sometimes for attention, sometimes when he is mad or stressed. With time, I am hopeful that he will be able to overcome this. 

Yesterday on my way home from work, I needed to stop at the grocery store for a gallon of milk. And as usual, I just couldn't resist grabbing that one dollar bag of amazingly delicious barbecue potato chips smothered in entirely too much sodium. And then I ate the whole bag on my way home.

Well guess what- there's nothing really cute about a grown woman eating an entire bag of potato chips in her car. It's disturbing, really.

I've decided to collect some data to help me understand when/how/why I feel the need to eat an entire bag of potato chips. Is it the flavor? Price? My lack of will power? Level of stress?

With time, I am hopeful that I can overcome this.

My own hypothesis: Researchers looking at lifetime prevalence in those who parent children with autism spectrum disorders suggest that approximately 50% engage in some form of stress eating.

My own little SIB.

I'm imperfect.

I'm imperfect. 

There. I said it.

I'm totally guilty of flooding facebook and instagram with pictures of my kids {because they are really, really cute} but with the pile of laundry cropped out, and a filter that makes my carpet look Valencia, not Vomit.

But I also like to keep it real. Therefore, I think you should know that the ABA therapist says talking to Waylon in a calm voice will get the best results, but I yelled a lot this morning. I know it's not going to "get the best results", but I'd had it.

And I said it was going to be ok if Waylon didn't make his First Communion with the other kids his age, but then I bawled like a baby all the way home from the First Communion Mass.

Guess what? I'm imperfect.
Sometimes you've got to take your tiara off, Princess, and scrub that vomit up out of your carpet when your hubs is out getting crazay at a bachelor party (and by crazay I mean fishing and throwing horseshoes) and you don't want the house to smell like curdled milk all weekend. Sometimes you've got to count backwards from ten and put a smile on your face and put a shirt on your kid for the sixteen thousandth time in ten minutes, and then sing Kumbaya while you hold that shirt on like a straight jacket the whole way to the minivan. And sometimes you've got to swallow your pride and say "God loves Waylon just the way he is. First Communion or not. And I didn't have to buy an overpriced suit and rosary this year. Boo-yah."

Accepting imperfection can be a challenge. But I think this is something that might be a little easier for moms of kids with special needs. It's like we don't really have a choice: Junior only wears camo swimming trunks right now, so the family photo is going to be mismatching this year. OR, it took us twenty minutes to get from the garage door to the carseat, so we're going to miss the readings at Mass. (Um, this happens to us EVERY SINGLE WEEK. Probably more of a sin than an imperfection).

So moms, special needs or not, I'm asking a favor- DON'T GET ATE UP WITH PERFECTION. Just try to not be so hard on yourself for a while. I think you'll eventually find that it's okay for your family photos to be mismatched. And it's okay to lose your patience every now and then. And it's okay to have gross carpets. Because that's life.
Can you live your life with #nofilter?

And you know what? If you choose your battles wisely, you can stop worrying about your carpets, and start worrying about having enough time to play with all the kids before bedtime.
And that's the kind of life that's perfect.

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Last week Waylon's therapist called to let me know he was pooping turquoise. Dead serious.
"There were blue cupcakes at the support group meeting last night," I said without hesitation, "and we let him have three. Oops."
His response- "Good!  I was betting Play Dough. Cupcakes are way better."

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 Disclaimer: This idea of living life with #nofilter is strictly metaphorical. There is no way that I am in a position to begin detoxing myself of instagram filters. Either I hire a carpet cleaning man (who would have a coronary when he walked in) or I continue to Valencia the crap right out of my photos.
Kapeesh?