45 minutes.
I spent 45 minutes on the Wal-Mart floor today (you read that right) waiting for my son's sensory meltdown to subside.
We were there for Pull Ups and Children's Claritin. I would have left our cart in the middle of the aisle and calmly carried him straight out of there kicking and screaming...if we didn't absolutely need those two items. Instead, I cradled my 4-year-old as he shook, kicked, screamed and bawled in my arms. We were in a sensory stalemate, if you will, and we needed to ride it out until it subsided and we could calmly make our next move. "Riding it out," this time, occurred sitting in the middle of the Wal-Mart floor.
All because: I wouldn't buy him a toy.
To onlookers, that's what it most certainly must have seemed like. And boy...did I get cross looks, stares, and eye rolls. It felt like their glares were burning a harsh tattoo of judgement straight across my weary forehead that read: BAD MOM.
I try to explain to people that his meltdowns aren't ever really about "the toy." Not getting the toy is just the thing that sent him over the edge. The build-up started well before we made it to the toy aisle. When we first walked into the store, an employee was pushing a long line of shopping carts inside and they crashed (loudly and unexpectedly) into the wall next to us. TJ had also never been to this store so the surroundings were unfamiliar (he knows his way around Target though people...let's be real). In addition, he was hungry and tired, and the kicker - his mom has been really friggin sick for months now. By the time I told him "no" in response to getting the toy, he was DONE.
This is what SPD looks like, folks. It Iooks like a spoiled little boy who wants a toy and throws a fit if he doesn't get his way. It looks like a whiny, bratty little kid whose mom lets him walk all over him. For the few seconds that passers-by notice a screaming four-year-old in his mom's lap sitting in the middle of an aisle in Wal-Mart, it can look to them like the mom is a big hot mess who doesn't have her $hit together.
What I wish people COULD see is that my little boy is a sweetheart who says the words "I love you" at least 20 times a day. He loves vehicles and cats and turns out he is really good with directions. He uses words like "impressive" and "hoist" and loves to sing "The Tree Farm" radio jingle. He struggles more each day than many kids we know, and is basically just trying desperately to hold his own $hit together.
Thank you...to the few kind strangers who stopped to ask if we were okay, even though they had no clue about our situation and chose not to judge. Most importantly, thank you to the one woman who whispered to me,
You're a wonderful mom...I wish all moms could be like you.
Those words hit me like a ton of bricks and immediately, even though I had been trying to hold them back so TJ wouldn't see them, my tears began to flow.
I realize that he can't control his meltdowns...that sensory overload takes over and he becomes unable to process information in a functional way. I will hug him and validate his feelings and tell him that it's ok to be sad and disappointed. But when I have the time, wherewithal and strength, I will do my best to stick to my boundaries and teach him to be a decent human being even though things are hard for him. It seemed like 3 hours, but I stood my ground and he did not get that toy.
Today's lesson on human decency, despite debilitating dysfunction, brought to you by Sensory Processing Disorder, our messy Wal-Mart meltdown, and a stranger's whispered words.
