Tears streamed from my son TJ's red, hot, blotchy four-year-old face as he struggled to catch his breath. I felt his little heart pounding through his chest between the soft brown blanket I wrapped him in, and the weight of my body. He thrashed his head backward and headbutted me, and then quickly turned his head to the side and sunk his tiny, sharp teeth into my bare shoulder. I yelped in pain as I immediately scanned the imaginary file of new information in my brain that I just gleaned from his (absolutely amazing and wonderful) occupational therapist yesterday.
File tab label reads: Co-Regulation Strategies and Keeping Yourself Safe During Violent Meltdowns
I frantically scanned the file...
-Look for signs of dis-regulation (damn...way too late for this!)
-Keep yourself calm (uhhhhhh...ok?)
-Find a soft blanket and a soft place, such as a couch or cushy chair (check)
-Wrap child's arms in blanket and hold him down with light pressure (check)
-Less talking, more doing (#fail)
-Tell child you need to keep yourself safe (check)
-Breathe deeply (#fail)
-Reassure child they are safe (check)
-Child should fatigue faster and eventually calm down (eventually)
What actually happened:-My son kicked me in the lower abdomen before I could get him fully wrapped in the soft blanket (I have an autoimmune disease called interstitial cystitis and am currently in a flare. That kick? It did not feel good.)
-I immediately started crying as I held him down
-I repeated, way too many times, that I needed to keep myself safe and that I hated holding him down
-I incessantly told him how much I loved him, and that things would be okay
-I slowly let him out of the burrito blanket because it was torture for me - way too soon - and he immediately grabbed a heavy metal toy truck and hurled it at my head
-I started the process over and forced myself to be strong and take as much emotion out of the situation as I could
-I felt guilty and like a horrible parent the ENTIRE time
-Eventually he was able to calm down, stop hurting me and relax on the couch with his headphones and tablet (no judging...I have to pick my battles)
-I called TJ's occupational therapist to explain the situation, cried to her, and cancelled his appointment at the STAR Institute for Sensory Processing Disorder that was scheduled for later this afternoon
-Finally, I seriously contemplated adding vodka to my iced coffee
*
Today, I blame mac and cheese.
I stirred the cheese powder into my son's lunch after it came out of the microwave. He wanted to do it. I wasn't aware. Thirty minutes later, I'm on top of his little body, holding him down so I don't collect any additional scratches, bruises or bite marks.
The entire meltdown lasted about 35 minutes. Much, much shorter than Monday's one hour and 45 minutes. Mark my words, however...they all feel like hours to me. Never-ending soul-crushers. Today I had a steaming bowl of mac and cheese hurled at me. Three toy trucks. My own phone. And a glass of milk. Not really all that much, compared to the usual amount of destruction and mayhem as a result of TJ's sensory overload. Televisions (yes, plural) have been broken. Mirrors shattered. Lamps, fans, and numerous other household items and toys, broken.
My husband and I are learning that it is never really about mac and cheese. Or a pink sucker (this morning). Or taking his own shoes off (last week). Or "insert typical four-year-old problem here" (almost every day). My son's meltdowns, which are completely different than tantrums if you're familiar with the world of Sensory Processing Disorder, are a result of a cumulative collection of sensory experiences that his brain simply can't handle. And his cup spills. Or explodes. Rarely does it just drip.
Today, it feels like a bomb exploded in our house. In a sense, I believe that one has.
As much as I can try to explain to outsiders how quickly our days can unravel, I just truly feel like I am very much alone. TJ's explosive meltdowns typically happen at home. My husband Mark has the pleasure of being around for them sometimes, but usually, I'm the only one around. He does a really great job of holding things together at school, in stores, at other people's houses, etc. He knows he is safe and loved at home and since he is with me a majority of the time, his cup spills directly onto me.
*
So for every selfie I post on social media because I just did my makeup and I feel halfway decent - know that a landmine has probably already gone off in our house, or is about to. For every pretty piece of art I make or picture of our beautiful mountain property I take, we arrive 45 minutes to an hour late for summer camp (that was this morning, because I was holding TJ in my lap in the front seat of my car as he wailed and cried, patiently waiting for his emotions to regulate so I can buckle him into his car seat and get moving). New outfit or toy...missed birthday party or social gathering. You get the idea.
Rainbows and butterflies?
Not always.
Not when it comes to life with Sensory Processing Disorder.
