It's All About the Choices

When Pooka was only about two weeks old, I had already made at least two major parenting choices. The first one was to stop feeding her breast milk. That decision caused my very first mommy guilt. All the good mom's breast feed according to the breast feeding support groups. I earnestly tried. Pooka wouldn't latch on so I pumped milk several times a day and froze it for later. I was doing the best thing for my child. Doing the best thing meant that as a sleep deprived new zombie, I mean mom, I placed my breast in a milking machine that pulled and sucked at my nipple like it was taffy for about 10 minutes each side, and the end result was the tiniest amount of precious milk. But my baby was worth it, so I continued to do this several times a day for almost two weeks. Somewhere in the second week of this painful ritual, I plugged in the milking machine, heard that horrible mechanical sucking noise and started bawling. I cried throughout for the 20 minute session. I cried because I knew that my child was going to projectile vomit my efforts across the room. Pooka had severe reflux and didn't keep much down during the first month. It all started to seem so ridiculous (and now funny). So I decided that if I continued, my daughter would have "the good milk" but I would lose my sanity. Sanity trumped milk.

The second decision that I remember making is a bit more personal. I know, you are thinking what can be more personal than my boob in a milking machine, But it is. I did not feel an instant bond with my child, which I know is totally normal. Yes, I loved her because she was mine. I took care of her basic needs of food, diaper changes, and cuddles. However, I felt like I was babysitting someone else's kid. The first few weeks of adjusting to parenthood was rough. I had always been very independent and not used to having someone around me all the time. Let alone a needy little thing. So I remember one day feeling very irked that I had to clean the umbilical chord with alcohol again. It was late at night and I was so tired. I just wanted to crawl under my covers and sleep for like... ever. I could feel resentment growing. Then I stopped. I realized at that moment that I had a choice to make. I could go into Pooka's room and clean her umbilical chord with the resentment that was brewing or I could choose to do it with love.That simple. I chose love and will never forget that moment for as long as I live. I felt like a mom not a babysitter.

Flashforward 12 years, I am once again making choices about acting with love and not resentment. This month has been really a struggle with finding balance in my role as a single, working parent. Work has been demanding. When I focus too much on work, I get stressed. When I get stressed, Pooka gets stressed, When Pooka gets stressed, her behavior and neediness escalates. Which makes me more stressed. We get stuck on this dizzying carousel of anxiety until it starts spinning so fast, one of us gets thrown off. Usually me. But that is a good thing because once I brush myself off, I realize the jolt snapped me back into level headedness. Then it is time to make choices again.

 

Blizzard-y Fun Snowmen



Usually there is a clear indication that we are beginning to ride the carousel; the pressure builds over time. We started the month of February with the blizzard and 3 1/2 days of being in the house together. I was excited to spend the time with Pooka while I worked from home. It went surprisingly well. Pooka let me focus when I had to, and I stopped working occassionally to do something fun with her. We made these marshmallow snowmen in honor of the blizzard from a recipe that Pooka chose. Due to a few ingredient substitutions, they ended up looking a bit like albino snowmen. But they are kind of cute. I ate all of them except for one. But by the third day in the house together, Pook and I were bit on edge. We needed our own space.

Mid-month we had a very long three day weekend. I had had an extremely long week at work and really did not have much energy left for the weekend. But as usual, Pooka seemed to need me more than ever. She must sense when I am not really available to her mentally. This causes her to revert back to babyish behavior, i.e. "hold my hand while I get out of bed", "pour my juice". The more I tried to encourage Pooka to do the things that she knows how to do, the more she insisted that I "help". My lack of internal resources made me feel resentful of this behavior. Wait... that seems familiar.

After that weekend, I felt horrible. My time shared with Pooka is limited and I want more laughter than arguing. Then I remembered the lesson from the infant days. During the last week in February, I chose to make my choices out of love and not resentment. I chose to ease up on my work schedule to recharge my batteries, which actually made me feel more productive. I chose to pretend that I was on vacation at home over the weekend so that I could actually feel like I had a break from work. On Sunday, even though I was tired, I chose to play a game of Trouble with Pooka (I was beat again. I can't believe how lucky this girl can be) and then, oh the greatest imagination play of all, Barbies. Pook looked at me as if she didn't recongize me as I pretended that the Barbie family was on a bumpy plane ride to Disney World. (Yes, sweetie, mom still knows how to have fun and be silly) . I also chose to stay home with Pooka today because she was sick. I usually ask her dad or my mom to watch her when she needs to stay home so I can go to work. But today I chose to let work take the backseat. Well, I guess I still did do quite a bit of work at home... but I was there if she needed me. Before she went to sleep, Pooka told me that she was happy that we hung out today. Seems like I made the right choice.

A 5 Minute Morning Conversation with Pooka

Pooka: I’m so full of joyful and excitement and energy. (Add short, high-pitched scream to punctuate how much joy, excitement and energy she is full of).

Me: You certainly are Pooka. And it is such a nice way to start the morning. Minus the scream. Our neighbors really don’t want to hear screaming. Please don’t scream.

Pooka: Do you miss my Daddy?”

Me: (Long pause). Yes, I miss your Daddy sometimes.

Pooka: What do you miss about him?

Me: We used to talk a lot a long time ago. So I miss talking to him sometimes.

Pooka: I have plenty of time to play?

Me:  Yes.

Pooka: I do?

Me: Yes.

Pooka: I do?

Me: Yes.

Pooka: I do?

Me: Yes.

Pooka: I do?

Me: Yes.

Add at least 5 more “I do’s” and yeses.

Pooka: Look at my pretty hair.

Me: You have beautiful hair. Mine used to be thin and scraggly when I was your age. Yours is thick and wavy. Very pretty.

Pooka: I’m tired.

Me: You are? You slept in a bit this morning.

Pooka: So I have plenty of time to play?

Me: Yes.  

Pooka: So I have plenty of time to play?

Me: Yes.

Pooka: So I do?

Me: Yes

Pooka: I do? ….

Me: (Sigh) Now I’m tired.

Destination: Homemade Pizza Fun

Introduction

Finally here I am writing my first blog post!  I must admit that this feels intimidating. And exciting. My filters are in high gear. Usually I journal for my own eyes and pleasure with a scream of consciousness technique (oops, I meant stream of consciousness not scream of consciousness but am leaving it as is because, 1) "scream" somewhat accurately describes quite a few of my journal entries, and 2) I believe in Freudian slips ). So now I am trying to write with purpose and for an audience. Yes, I know that right now I only have an audience of one (you know who you are and thanks, by the way, for reading and providing constructive criticsim).  But it is still scary even with a small readership.

I have two goals for this blog:

1. Cheap Therapy. I want to look at the humorous side of the things that happen in my everyday life that drive me crazy (and believe me, there are many). Somehow, if I see the funny side of things, maybe I really won't end up on the other side of sanity.
2. Connection with others. I'm hoping that single parents, parents of children with special needs, or single parents of children with special needs, or anyone at all really, connect with what I write and, dare I say, laugh with me (or at me, which could be a fine line).

So on to the first adventure...

Destination: Homemade Pizza Fun

Many people subscribe to the belief that enjoying the path taken is the most important part of the journey.  I actually side with that camp, most of the time. And by most of the time, I really mean mostly when things are going my way. As soon as events start to unfold in a way that I did not imagine, I am out of my comfort zone and focused in on just reaching the destination. Sometimes maybe a little hyper-focused. 

When you have a child who is on the Austistic spectrum, there are plenty of opportunities for things to go awry. By parenting Pooka, I have learned (and relearned) how to adapt when faced with the unexpected and that, no matter how imminent it seems, being the center of attention of strangers is not going to kill me (or at least it hasn't yet).

Lately, I have been feeling that Pooka and I have not been spending enough time having fun and creating together. So I decided that we would do a cooking activity once a week. I envisioned that we would enjoy choosing the ingredients together, Pooka would willingly read the directions, and I would teach her how to measure. We would laugh when there were spills or mis-measurements. Then we would eat the fruits of our labor while smiling and feeling quite happy with the memories we were creating. That was the path I wanted to follow.

We decided to make homemade individual pizzas as our first cooking project. We went to Trader Joes to pick up the ingredients. All was going as planned. Until Pooka remembered that Grandma's dog's veterinarian also shops at the same Trader Joes. She became obsessed with finding Dr. B. The first person she saw with light brown hair became her target because "Grandma said that Dr. B has light brown hair". Pooka wanted to ask the lady if she was Dr. B, and then she added that "she just knew it was". I try to teach her that she can't talk to strangers, especially when her choice of topic is atypical to most social situations. So I said no, that she could not talk to the stranger. This set Pooka into a tizzy, with hands flapping in frustration, and voice getting close to hysterics.

Oh joy! Now people were looking at us. I realize that I am most uncomfortable with people staring because I do not always feel confident in my ability to handle the situation. Even after all these years. So my goal became to get Pooka to quiet down so we can finish our shopping and go home. I pulled her aside and very sternly told her that we would leave TJs if she did not quiet down and behave, and by behave, I meant keep her voice down, no talking to strangers, and to listen to me. It worked - for 30 seconds. Then she thought of a new tactic, ask the TJ employees if they knew if that lady was Dr. B. I have to admire Pooka's ability to strategize how to get her way.

After telling her at least ten times that she could not ask the TJ employee about the brown haired lady, I had to give in if I had any hope of getting out of this store with the pizza ingredients in hand and my wits about me. So Pooka asks the employee as I am standing behind her emphatically shaking my head so the employee will understand that she should say no. Once this little exchange was over, Pooka was satisfied until she saw the brown haired stranger again. Then it started all over...  And wouldn't you know it, even as I was trying to avoid this person, she seemed to pop up in every aisle we were in or Pooka would see her passing by the aisle end. It was torture (for me and for Pooka).

We made it to the check out. Pooka asked the cashier if she knew if Dr. B was in the store. Once again, with my guidance, the answer was no. Those TJ employees were a bit like lifesavers that day. Finally, we were outside and headed to the car. I peaked around quickly to make sure that the brown haired stranger was not around. With no sighting, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was just me and Pooka now. All was calm again.

I wonder if it would have been better to just let Pooka ask the lady if she was Dr. B. Or maybe it would have been better if we had left the store at the beginning. That is what the parenting books would have said to do. But I was focused on accomplishing our goal of making homemade pizzas just as much as Pooka was focused on finding out if the brown haired stranger was Dr. B. I guess sometimes for us, it really is about reaching the destination and not so much how we get there. Because in the end, Pooka and I did create something... our delicious spinach, mushroom, and black olive pizzas, and we created the memory of eating those delicious pizzas. The path taken seemed less important. And there were a couple of smiles and even a "thank you, Mom". Mission accomplished!

Words from Pooka - "I promise I won't try to eat it."

Last week, Pooka asked if she could bring one of her CDs to school. Normally that would not be a problem. However, the bus driver banned her from bringing CDs on the bus early in the school year. The reason? Pooka decided that she wanted more attention than she was getting from the bus driver, so she decided to try to eat one of her CDs. I can only imagine the scene... Pooka holding the CD in her mouth and, with all the subtlety of a humongous red pimple in the middle of your nose, saying "Look at me. Look at me." So, last week she promised that she wouldn't do it again. I'd like to believer her, but her promises are akin to a politician's campaign trail rhetoric. Hmm.... I guess I have another career path to consider for Pooka's future, especially given her knack for meeting people and shaking hands everyplace we go. She has forgotten about the CD... for now.