it's been a while/henry's birthday

It’s been a while. I could go into the details of all the things that have kept me away, but let’s just summarize it in really cool hashtags:

#iwassuperpregnantforawhilethere

#thenihadanotherbabyandallthatjazz

#henryturnedtwoanditisveryevidentinhisbehavior

My baby boy is surely growing – Henry turned TWO (!) the first weekend in November! We celebrated him with a baseball themed party since baseball is nothing short of everything important in his world. The day was perfect as Henry was so genuinely happy and flexible the whole day. Leading up to his birthday however was a really difficult time for me. The typical emotions of concern I face daily were suddenly amplified to an all new level. The reality of my sweet boy turning two with a non-verbal autism label was unbearable at times. A birthday is supposed to be a beautiful celebration, and I was a little too caught up worrying about the yet to come. Parenting is this delicate balance of having to prepare for every aspect of the future, while trying viciously to still live in the moment. I struggled intensely to be present, to fight away the gloom, and to embrace the magnificence of having spent the last year with my incredible son.

On his birthday I succeeded in being genuinely optimistic and happy. When he awoke Brandon and I excitedly entered his room and explained it was finally HIS BIG DAY! He seemed to truly understand all we had been talking about to him in the weeks leading up and was instantly giggling and clapping his hands eagerly. Any semblance of worry I face can always be easily diminished by my boy’s laughter and happiness.

His favorite parts were:

The gigantic bunch of balloons! They had been too tangled in transport to spread around the house like planned, but he liked the large bunch better and he would tug at the strings until they would all come down at once and back up. This went on for days after his party.

He ate a couple of sugar cookies before his party even started, but refused the ones with icing.He also wouldn’t eat cake. So his birthday consisted of icing-free cookies and broccoli, and he thought that was pretty awesome.

He opened presents with excitement, although once his new train set was unwrapped he kept exclaiming “mmm mmm” (like choo choo but with mouth closed) and going back to look at it before opening the next gift.

When he opened up a band in-a-box present filled with instruments I passed them around so everyone was playing something, and he moved to the rhythm joyfully.

This year, there were no tears when he was sang Happy Birthday too, as he was gladly the center of attention! Together, we blew out his candle.

Some moments are too perfect for words.

Moments

“I have not lost faith in God. I have moments of anger and protest.

 Sometimes I've been closer to him for that reason.”

Elie Wiesel

The moment Henry began self-injurious behaviors I was shocked. Even still, while it isn't an entirely new behavior, the shock and sadness hasn't decreased. Seeing your child hurt is unnaturally painful, and for it to be self-inflicted is a most unfair situation.

My heart has broken for him. I cannot even begin to explain the paralyzing horror that sets in when my perfect, sweet child becomes so frustrated that the only way he can cope is to raise his hands to his head and inflict pain upon his precious body.

I immediately intervene and bear hug him with his hands pinned. Sometimes the deep pressure can calm him, sometimes it doesn't  Sometimes the behavior can easily be replaced by a few rounds of “the wheels on the bus” and some wipers going “swish, swish, swish.” Sometimes the only solution is time, a seemingly endless span of time.

I break down, I pray, I cry. I become angry and jealous and jaded. I wish a million times over that this moment won’t ever happen again.

And still it does, and we have to deal.

I make a tear-filled phone call to my husband looking for the never-faltering support that comes immediately upon answering his phone. I record the behaviors in his developmental log, despite the feeling of betrayal that accompanies it when I do so. I send a text message to a close friend looking for support.

Then the best thing happens. Henry walks over to me, plops himself in my lap and shoves a book into my face. He wants to read his Romeo + Juliet counting primer book. He gets excited on page nine; because he knows we are almost to page ten. “Ten Kisses” I read aloud and immediately begin to smother him with all of the kisses and mushiness that a mother can. Thank God for these moments. 

hello, there.

This blog is for me. Well it’s for everyone who cares to have a glimpse into our lives, but realistically, it’s for me. 

My outlet.

Those who are on my Facebook (and don’t see /haven’t met Hank) were quite shocked to learn of his diagnosis. He IS very much the smart, handsome, silly boy I fill up their newsfeeds with. I don’t fill my statuses with negative talk, because it just doesn’t seem the right place. I do, however, want this blog to be a more fair representation. I choose happiness, I choose to think positive, and for this blog I choose reality.

The truth of our lives isn’t complex; it’s actually pretty basic. We live in a cycle of happiness, faith, tears, joy, pain, hope, and repeat. The good outweighs the bad. I have moments of feeling that another 30 seconds alone of a situation may break me, and ten minutes later laughing with all I have. There are days filled with spinning, self-injurious behaviors, and no eye-contact, and the next day the normalcy is almost overwhelming. Like any parent I wish some days would end already, and stall at bedtime because I want just five more seconds to smell his freshly washed hair before he drifts to sleep.

It’s a blessed life, regardless.