The present and the other early days

P had his first school excursion yesterday. My attempts to find out how it went put my in mind of Tim Page's wonderful essay "Parallel Play" in The New Yorker. I read just the first page again after my son came home. Thanks Tim, wherever you are, for you humour, your honesty and your insight; without your wonderful account, there I would have been, stressed about everything he didn't get out of the trip. His account differed substantially from yours, but I felt like I was able to get more of a handle on where he was at, & we did indeed progress towards a more mutual understanding of how the day went as a result.

Otherwise, more of the same old ups & downs here. Maybe now is time for that return to the early days with S. I was 7 months pregnant with him when we received P's diagnosis. I was already worn down, almost worn out; it's pretty obvious how that would have added to the load. Except that, for some reason, I was never concerned that S would also be at risk; blissful ignorance really, since the risk does increase with every birth, and the severity of the autism often increases too. And thankfully I've not had to say I was wrong about that, although, as I've indicated, I've had many wobbly moments since, wondering if there was something about him that I was missing. And I should say that "thankfully" indicates not any dissatisfaction or other slight upon my oldest, beautiful boy; it is a reflection on my ability, or fairly, their parents' abilities, to collectively meet their needs. I do not know how I could have survived 2 children so close in age, with so little support for myself, and such high needs from them. Not that S turned out to be an easy baby, but the issues were different.

A slightly less easy birth, and a lot of anxiety from me about leaving P for the 1st time ever, & not knowing how his father would cope without me overseeing. Sounds egotistical, but I was with him day & night & he was a boy who fell apart at the drop of a hat. I was already behind the 8-ball before I left hospital. And feeding S was painful, but no-one seemed interested, assuming, I suppose, that since I'd fed one, I'd work it out. But I didn't, & within days was crying in misery at the sight of my hungry baby. Again! Different issues this time; S, it turned out, didn't have enough lower jaw to attach firmly. I'll skip the technicalities, but I was advised it was a matter of waiting for it to grow over the next 5-6 weeks. And indeed that pretty much sorted it out then, but the problem, bizarrely, came back a few months later -- maybe the topic of another post, maybe not.

Already tired, already in pain, already questioning my own adequacy. And in the midst of it all, that wonderful introduction to the world of special services for P, trekking to this or that office or clinic, sometimes with the assistance of the one saintly family member who ever offered me help, or sometimes paying for some assistance with the kids (I'd started doing this around the house when P was about 7 months old -- fantastic that we could afford it, but in my mindset, more proof of my inadequacy). So I'd be feeding or jiggling an irritable baby while my back burned & P bounced around a room somewhere or other stressed & desperate to escape, & me barely able to put out a hand or offer anything to calm him because my hands were well & truly full. So therapy seemed to consist of places & activities that deeply upset my very upsettable ASD child. And then we'd make it out & for hours afterwards we would all live with his disturbance.

I lost a lot of weight when I breastfed P, around 6-7 months in, but this time, in sheer exhaustion, I would down huge quantities of chocolate, generally in the early afternoon, just to try to keep myself moving. I've never been one for illicit drugs: I suppose someone else in my situation might have turned to something a bit more pharmacological! The days were absolutely relentless. I could barely get S to sleep, & he would wake up quickly if I put him down. P still needed a sleep, & as with all transitions, it would begin with a tantrum. And now carrying S constantly, he couldn't get as much of me as he wanted, which exacerbated everything. I bought a wrap so that I could carry S on my back, but only wore it for the 1st nap of the day, as I was never confident to put it on when I was alone; his father would help me into it before he left for work. Half an hour of sleep, and he was awake again. That was all the time I got, face to face, with my toddler.

So, nature or nurture? Plenty of incriminating evidence here, isn't there? Mother not coping, of course baby will pick this up! Ah, but of all the things I castigate myself for, I absolutely know that the baby brings its own business to the table. I guess you could say that with his temperament and the realities of his new-born world, it was not a recipe for harmony.