So what is it like having a child with autism?

So, what is it like having a child with autism?

I get this question a lot and actually like it when people ask. Unless a person has significant contact with someone on the spectrum he/she doesn't really understand what an autism driven world is about. Saying that, it isn't always easy to convey what having a child with autism is like. After much consideration, this is what I've come up with -

For me, having a child with autism is like living with an alien from another planet. I call him the "reluctant astronaut (R.A.)" because he really didn't want to come to earth, had absolutely no interest in this space mission. As a result, he didn't pay much attention at the briefings prior to the mission so doesn't know anything about Planet Earth - nothing about language, customs, or Earthling niceties in general. In fact, he is so disinterested in Earth that even though he was sent here, he has absolutely no desire to assimilate into Earth society. Meaning he still doesn't give a rat's ass about Earth mores.

That's also how I "explain" things he does that are pretty much unfathomable to me. For example - for a certain time period he liked to sit in the toilet. No, not on the toilet but in the toilet. I reasoned that on the home planet the toilet is a jacuzzi. Although eventually we managed to break him of this habit, the jacuzzi explanation popped again during potty training when the R.A. demonstrated not only an aversion to the toilet but would have all out nuttys when placed on one. He was probably thinking, "Poop in the jacuzzi? What is wrong with you people? Miscreants!" That's what he would say if he could speak English or any Earthing dialect.

For a time I was also convinced that not only was he a reluctant astronaut but was actually an alien cat that somehow ended up in a human body. It does make sense -

Cat

Has to everything his way

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Don't touch me!

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Doesn't speak human language

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Doesn't wear clothes

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto (Well, would if he had his way)

Of course I don't really believe my son to be a Reluctant Astronaut.

But sometimes it sure makes sense!

Disclaimer: Although I sometimes describe things about life with my R.A. in a humorous way, please understand that I am not laughing at him. He is my son and I love him very very much. I come from a family that had its share of challenges and I learned from a young age that laughter is powerful. A situation cannot completely hurt you if you are able to find humor and laugh at some parts of it. So that's what I do. And I don't use humor solely with the R.A. My daughter was born with a heart condition that required immediate surgery. (No, I don't make good babies. They come out broken.) She was whisked away by ambulance to the hospital in Boston. It was all unexpected and traumatic. A nice young intern came to speak with my husband and me and was re-assuring us that nothing we had done caused the baby's condition. The stress and sorrow were overwhelming. When the nice young intern concluded I turned to my husband and said, "See, I told you it wasn't from all that smack I did during my pregnancy." The intern froze and then let out this huge belly laugh. Was I appropriate? Probably not. But I had to do something to relieve the stress. Astronaut life is stressful so find the laughter where you can.
And as G.K. Chesterton said, "Humor can get through the keyhole when seriousness is still hammering at the door."

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Formal Letter of Protest


Translation of the above missive the R.A. wrote last night in a fit of anger to Central Command:

812th Day of Wmoeonglsothd in the 3526th Year of Our Kitchen God

Despite my ongoing dissatisfaction and resentments concerning this mission, I have attempted, time and time again, to do the best job I can under these atrocious circumstances. I am constantly combating the earth species astronomical stupidity and boorish mores. Lowering my personal standards to sub-basement levels,  I have accepted their barbaric use of Jacuzzis (toilets). I have withstood their endless torments (constant singing, ignited birthday cakes, pajamas.)  I have worked tirelessly to improve them as a "people" - weening them from bad habits such as sleep, curbing their dependency on artificial lighting, introducing them to finer dining (Dum Dums, Pringles, and gummies.)  Through it all I have done my duty. Although this assignment is impossible, have I complained?  Okay, have I complained much?  All right, have I complained much this week? 

I wish to enter a formal complaint of inhuman/un-alien treatment.  Last night my caregivers subjected me to a torture which I am certain violates the Inter-Galactic Accords.  The following is what transpired:

I was coaxed upstairs by the Daddy-Guy under the premise of a shower and diaper change.  I followed him, making it clear that I wasn't thrilled by either prospect as I always have better things to do.  (The floor is not going to color itself, you know what I mean?  Speaking of which, I don't know why they get their shorts in a twist when I do spruce up the floors.  Kitchen God knows it's always an improvement!)  Once we got upstairs it quickly became clear that the Big Man was not truthful.  He manhandled me onto a chair in the bathroom.  Next, the device of torture was pulled out - an electric razor (a very primitive earth device).  Daddy-Guy then proceeded to use it to (my hand trembles as I write this next part) SHEAR MY HAIR!  Oh, the horror! I was not going to allow him to remove my raven locks without a fight.  I did put up enough of a struggle that he finally had to summon the Mommy-Lady.  She used her chin and hands to hold my head still.  The nightmare was exacerbated by her cooing and singing.  I was so upset that I was unable to sleep that night which actually worked out to my advantage as I kept the family up most of the night. (Let me just say one thing about the bags under Mommy-Lady's eyes - if she were taking a plane in the near future they would charge her an extra baggage fee due to those two bad boys under her eyes.) They can take my fine silky hair but they can't take my propensity for mayhem, bald head or not!

I respectfully submit photos of the horrendous event as evidence:




I mean, honestly, look at that!  It's so short it's like all I have left is a mere suggestion of hair. It also  highlights my chubby cheeks and their sprinklings of freckles making me look even more adorable. Seriously? I've caught my reflection a couple of times and I've distracted myself with my own preciousness.  How am I supposed to exact world domination while being so damn cute?  It's completely undercut my credibility. 
I further recommend an immediate vaporization of the entire planet in retaliation for my treatment. 

I look forward to hearing from you!

Respectfully submitted on this date by Q-Quork 7
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