Getting to Feel Love

Eli has finished his first week of ABA therapy. Three days a week, 7-8 hours a day. 

He's doing awesome. 

I have listened to the therapists and assistants talk about how incredibly smart he is, about what he has done and not done, about little improvements he has already made. 

I've seen the changes.

Today he made it through the entire day without needing to hold a train during transitions. 

My favorite part of the day is when they tell him "mommy's here" and he comes barreling straight into my arms. Today he nuzzled into my neck and said with such excitement, "So Much!!" (As in: "I love you sooo much.") Every one in the center reacted to his sweet, sweet demeanor. I am always grateful for how much he cuddles and squeezes and holds on. 

Seeing the other children in this clinic, seeing their parents ... I am so grateful that my son will wrap his arms around me. So grateful that he squeezes my neck. So knee-bendingly grateful that he can tell me "so much!"

I am so grateful that I get to feel and see and know his love. 

I am grateful that my touch doesn't hurt him. Grateful that he needs those tight squeezes and bear hugs. I am thankful that he knows how to communicate that. That he knows how to show that. 

So very grateful.

Giving Up His Days

After a very difficult and frustrating battle with Tricare, Eli is finally approved for and enrolled in ABA Therapy (Applied Behavior Analysis). When that all finally fell into place I was so relieved I felt myself physically relax. 

And it didn't exactly "fall into place" - I had to make phone call after phone call, bust down (okay - not exactly) a few doors, and let other people know I wouldn't let them fail my child. But we got there and he starts on Monday. 

I received the schedule and instructions today. At 8:30 in the morning on Monday I will drop my kiddo off with his lunch, a bag with a change of clothes and diapers, and not see him again until I pick him up at 4:30 that afternoon. 

It's harsh. 

The coordinator even recognized that. She explained that this allows him to immediately recognize routine without us interrupting the very important routine of the little (and not so little) ones already there. It is important for him to focus and have this defined space and time. After two full weeks of therapy, if they think he's ready, I can observe. Logically, I get it. I see why that is how it needs to be. 

This center is 45 minutes from our home - each way. If something happens, I can't get there immediately. If he isn't okay, I won't be there to know. How do you hand your little giant off to people who don't know him? Who don't know him the way you do? 

And what scares me even more ... how do you recognize that for right now - right now - someone else is going to learn how to communicate with your son? Someone else is going to cheer when he says, "Do you hear that?? It's a Train!" like he did this week. Someone else is going to make right where I haven't been able to. Someone else is going to see a meltdown and they are going to be able to figure out how to handle it. They are going to connect and understand my own child in a way that I can't yet. 

I have to drop him off and trust them with that - trust them with my littlest little. What if he is scared? What if he needs me? What if he screams and cries and kicks? How do I give someone else his Mondays? And his Thursdays? And his Fridays? 

He's my baby-baby. My last baby. I want those days. 

How do you accept that you can't understand things about your kiddo that a stranger will learn to before you do? 

I know this is the right thing to try. I know this is a good place for him. I know that intense, early intervention gives him the best chance at "recovery" and adaptability and "normal" life. I know that. I do. I know why we are doing this. I know why we fought for this. 

I know that I want to understand my son. I want to know why he does so many of the things he does. I know I want this for him - that as his momma I owe the very best we can give him. 

I won't be there and that is hard. I have to trust strangers to cheer for him and hug on him and give him what he needs, and in a few weeks to begin to teach me. I want to know my son - to know every possible technique and therapy and behavior possible to unlock his potential. I owe him his future - a bright, promising, glowing future - even if it means I have to give them these days. 

Little Giant's Big Brother

When Eli was diagnosed ... When I listened to the child psychologist, and the clinic coordinator, and the therapists, I couldn't help but have my mind wander to Logan. 

How would this affect him? How would he take this? How do you explain to a four-year-old that he can't behave in a way that his brother does. That what he sees from this little giant isn't acceptable coming from him. That it isn't okay for him to do what his brother does day in and day out without the same reaction we would give him. That his brother can do things he simply can't. 

How do you explain to your bigger little what it is to have a sibling who is autistic. 

Logan has been sick for the last two days. He is - without question - the kindest, most patient patient you will ever come across. He was so concerned that he would get his brother sick. So concerned if Eli got too close or if Eli tried to drink out of his cup. 

It was precious to see. 

This evening Logan sat down with Eli and watched youtube videos of people playing with Thomas trains with him. He clicked on the videos that Eli pointed to, and asked Eli what the names were of the trains on the screen. He stayed patient while he tried to understand what exactly his little brother wanted. 

Together they giggled and sang along and talked about trains and their colors and their numbers. Logan took his time to spend with Eli doing something that Eli loves.

Logan couldn't care less about trains and will tell you (away from Eli, of course) that he doesn't like Thomas the Tank Engine "at all". 

He is such a good kiddo. 

He has learned the trains' names, their numbers, their colors. When Eli is having a melt down he tries his best to comfort him, tell him it's okay, keep calm beside him. He doesn't retaliate when Eli hits or kicks or screams. 

 He amazes me every day. Every day. 

He doesn't "even like" Thomas the Train but he loves his little brother. And for him, he is so good at pretending.

Proud of you, kiddo. What a wonderful brother for a little giant to have.