As a special needs momma I have heard a lot of talk of poop problems. Thankfully, we don't have too much of an issue with that here. Or so I thought.... Up until now, our biggest issue is that Liam has IBS which means he is either constipated or has diarrhea. (We did go through a phase where he would hide when he had to go. He was about 5 or so when this took place. He would hide because he didn't want to stop playing to go poop. It was about 6 months before he stopped doing that and we were back to "normal." Our "normal.")
We then went through an, "I don't know if I have to go or not" phase. Where he would scream and cry because he couldn't tell if he had to go, or just had gas. We are still partially in this phase as it rears it's ugly head at least once a week. How do you explain to your autistic child when they have to poop??? I mean, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go. I have no words for that. It's a feeling. To me, it's indescribable.
Now we have a new phase mingling with that, which is, he doesn't want to poop. Yes, you read that right. So now, when he can tell he has to go, he SCREAMS. He cries. He tells us, "I don't like the way it feels." Does it hurt? Nope. "It feels gross," he says. So either, he can't tell that he has to go, or he can, and doesn't like how it feels.
So I wonder, how as a parent I can help him through this. I mean, I know it's sensory. DUH, that's a given. But how in God's name do I make this okay for him???? It's pooping. It's a natural part of life. He HAS to poop. How do I make this easier on him????
"I wish I could stop eating so my body would stop pooping!"
The worst part of being a parent is when there is something ailing or bothering your child, and you as his/her parent can't fix it. That's our job. They look to us for guidance and help, and when we can't give it then what?
I am at a loss so any advice here is appreciated and welcomed. PLEASE, help me, help this kid poop.
(Oh, and he still doesn't wipe himself. He will try once in awhile with A LOT of prompting and begging. It's a germ thing. He can't stand the thought of wiping his own arse. We pray this ends soon because I can't be wiping a 30 year old man's butt!) So any advice there is also appreciated! (btw, we have tried wet wipes, bribing, begging, sticker charts, making him sit there and refusing to wipe it. That was fun. He sat there and screamed til he was hoarse and I ended up wiping him any way. Iron will in this kid!)
Well if you must know, they are REAL, all me baby!!! Oh wait, I was talking about trees, not my boobs! Sadly our tree is fake. She's a cutie though. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't long for a REAL Christmas tree.
The scent of pine. The needles in the carpet (hey the fake tree sheds too, and they are a b!tch to vacuum up too!) The excitement when you find the good luck bird's nest in the branches. Hoping you don't find a squirrel ;) (Come on, that made for some funny movie memories in Natl' Lampoons!)
More over, what I miss is the family time, and the memories we made. We would bundle up. Complete with scarves wrapped around our heads and covering our mouths. (ok, that part I hated. Something about slobbery yarn covering my face still makes me gag. MOUTH BREATHER!)
We would be bundled head to toe (except the one year it was so warm, we went wearing shorts, damn Mother Nature!) and head to to the tree farm. We didn't sing Christmas Carols though.... We sang along to the radio. So at that time it was Madonna, Tears for Fears, Phil Collins... You 80's babies know what I am talking about ;)
Once at the tree farm, we walked for what seemed like miles!!!! The snow was always deep because it drifted up around the trees. Daddy would NEVER choose a pre cut tree. That would be too easy!!! Actually, in his words, "pre cut lose their needles too fast. WE need a FRESH one!" And so we did.
Then came the dysfunction, which of course would escalate as the day wore on. Dad wants this one. Sissy wants this one. Bug (that was my nickname) wants this one. Mom agrees with dad because they were so in love, they just did that. Vice Versa if mom saw one she liked first, Dad would agree with her. The dilemma! Which to choose. Dad would come and look each tree over. It was like a modeling contest for fir trees! He got to make the final call. Then it was cuttin' time!!!
We ALWAYS argued over whose turn it was to saw the tree. I don't understand why we did that, now. We NEVER cut the whole damn thing down! We would make a few passes, and then whine it was too hard. Daddy would then take over. He would sometimes give it back to us at the end, and let one of us make the final cuts that would knock our tree loose from the stump.
Time to drag this damn thing to the car. Now that we are in Timbuktu, we must get this bugger back to the car! There was a LOT of whining about this part. I won't lie, mainly from ME!!! Then my sister would be yammering, "SHUT UP Courtney! You're such a WUSS!!!! MOM!!!! Tell her to STOP!" Ahhh, I remember it like it was yesterday ;)
Once there, came the task of getting that bad boy onto the roof and tying it down. In those days, we didn't pay the extra to get it baled. Times were tough. So we fought amongst sticky branches, and pokey needles to get it tied down to the car. Well, mostly dad and mom. By this point the whiny kids (US) were put in the car to zip lips.
Now we had to freeze driving home because we couldn't ROLL (yep, roll, no electric windows for us!) our windows up, due to the tree ropes running through them. Once there, it was time to drag that bad boy into the house, and get it into the stand. Mom and dad at this point would get it set up. Maybe argue a bit over how straight it was, then get the lights on.
Sissy and I were now thawed out, and we knew to steer clear of the stringing of the lights. You see, this was the part that sent our calm and collected father over the edge. Matter of fact, if you heard, "You dirty rotten....." You RAN!!!! The slew of cuss words that followed would make a sailor blush! NO KIDDING!!!
Once that was said and done, we became a picture perfect family. The Christmas music came on. The decorating began. Now, with every ornament we took turns talking about the memory behind it. You see, many people do their tree in colors or themes. Not us. We trim our tree in memories. EVERY ornament has a story. Every ornament a memory.
This is the tradition I will NEVER forget. We still do this with Liam. We each put on our special ornaments. I tell Liam who got him what, and how old he was. Or how old he was when he made certain ones with me. I then put on the ones from my childhood, and we talk about my memories attached to each one.
Our tree is a story. A memory. Our lives. And that my friends, is one of the BEST parts of Christmas <3
Now that I think of it, it doesn't matter if our tree is real or fake. We still make wonderful memories with it. And we still enjoy the time together, trimming our tree. (there is just less freezing and bickering involved) :P
For your enjoyment, I give you, THE 12 PAINS OF CHRISTMAS LEGO style :)
