I don’t give her enough credit. Elizabeth.
I don’t. I’ve forgotten that the
sensory stuff is really such a small piece.
I will teach her to not fear the toilets. I can teach her to find the foods that don’t
bother her. I can teach her to calm
herself and curb her destructive tendencies.
But what I can’t teach, I forget to credit her. I forget how WELL she does. Truly well.
Not just for a 4 year old, not for a “sensory kid”… but for anyone.
We had to get to LAX 2 hours early, only to find that it was
4 hours early due to a sizable delay to our flight. This could be torture to parents with
children who DON’T have sensory issues.
Who don’t have “motion seekers” with an oral fixation and auditory
sensory issues. But it wasn’t hard. Not really.
Nor was the two hour flight after 4 hours of waiting. She played with her sticker book until it was
okay to use the iPad. She NEATLY drank a
cup of soda on the plane filled WAY TOO FULL of soda and ice to be balanced
precariously on those sad little airplane tables. Didn’t spill a drop. When it was time to find a restaurant in busy
LAX, she put down her iPad and went willingly.
When her brother had to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time, she
didn’t care. When she and I had to
squeeze into the smaller of the handicapped bathrooms so she could stay in her
stroller while I used her nemesis (the automatic toilet), she was wonderful.
Did she get edgy when we were waiting for our zone to board
to be called? Yes, but it wasn’t out of
control. Just a 4 year old girl who was
a little tired. Did she and her brother
have a moment about how much light to let in the window on the plane? Yep, but it was a sibling moment not out of
the ordinary. She did well.
I was so looking forward to this vacation. And fearing it. We’ve just started Occupational Therapy to
help her with her sensory issues. She sometimes
yells when she thinks people are looking at her. I have to watch her eat food she really likes
carefully, because she will overeat to the point of vomiting. She can’t handle standing in even the
shortest of lines without touching everything in sight or collapsing onto the
floor. She doesn’t make friends easily
because she will yell at other kids to go away in public places. Strange places and strange smells can bother
her. She can reach a tantrum level where
all she can do is scream, “I CAN’T CALM DOWN!” over and over. And over.
Had I known how amazing she’d be, I would have slept better
the night before we left. But this trip
was full of the pitfalls for a girl like her.
Strange public bathrooms.
Frequent changes (my mom’s house, my dad’s house, Palm Springs hotel and
back to my mom’s). My absence as I met
up with old friends. Sharing public
space like the wading pool at the hotel. And, of course, the delays.
She handled it all.
And beautifully. I actually
teared-up at the pool when two little girls climbed in with her and instead of
her usual bossy or screaming or angry demeanor, she turned to them and said,
“Hi. My name is Elizabeth. What’s your name?”. My mom and I stared at each other in
disbelief. And I turned away so
Elizabeth wouldn’t see me get teary-eyed in pride.
When her beautiful little blonde head fell against the plane
window because she was exhausted after trying SO HARD in the airport during our
delay and during the flight, I looked over and felt the most immense love and
pride, I let my hair fall around my bent head so her brother wouldn’t see me
tear up again.
The first night in Palm Springs, when she declared the hotel
room too small and that she needed a house to “have room to run”, a short walk
around the grounds and pointing out the “fun” of hotel rooms like a TV in the
room, a little fridge stocked with goodies thanks to her Oma (my mom), etc.
adjusted her mood almost immediately.
When faced with her nemesis, the automatic toilet, she
started to panic, but took her deep breaths, put on her headphones, worked to
stop her shaking and declared, “I can do it mom”. I couldn’t hide the tears that time. I hugged her tight and told her I was SO, SO
proud of her.
I want her to be different from me. I want her to be fearless and try
everything. I want her to be tough, so
bullies never hurt her. I want her to be
uninhibited, so she can enjoy being different, rather than fighting to fit in.
I want her to be comfortable in her own skin, so she never fights anxiety or
depression.
So far… she’s WAY ahead of me. Dammit, here come the tears again. It sure is nice when they’re from pride
though.
