Learning the Hard Way

When my husband and I had our son, we expected the "normal" life that most people expect.  We expected to have a well-adjusted, well-mannered, well-educated, well-rounded boy because we were sure we would be dynamite parents.  With my background in elementary education and lots of experience in child-care, I had no reason to think otherwise.  With my husband's fantastic sense of humor and clean-cut ways, he was sure to be a stellar dad.

When we hit Bubba's (I'll call him that because I tend to call him that at home, but no - we didn't really name him Bubba) six-month mark and still didn't feel like we had a handle at all on how to care for him, we were getting concerned.  He wasn't colicky or ill, he just seemed ... discontent.  It seemed like I wasn't doing things right for him.  We experienced problems getting him to sleep, keeping him asleep, being content during wakeful times, getting on a schedule, you name it - all the normal baby stuff wasn't turning out very normal for us.  He seemed to want to eat ALL THE TIME, more than a baby should even be able to hold.   He didn't seem to need sleep, though all my "What to Expect" wisdom told me that newborns would sleep a whole lot!  He didn't like being held.  He arched away from me. 

At one point, when he was about a year old, I thought he must be bored.  Maybe we never bought enough toys.  After all, how was I to know how much a baby needed to play with?  I went out and got him some new things - a toy vacuum, a Little Tikes slide, and a shopping cart.  "That outta do it!" Not quite.  We thought of anything and everything that could be causing him to be so challenging.  Maybe his feet are cold at night!  Maybe he's sensitive to sounds!  Maybe we're doing something wrong.  Maybe we're doing everything wrong.  That was really the nagging thought that ate away at my already fragile confidence in my mothering abilities.  I was doing everything wrong.  Maybe I skipped school the day they taught everyone else how to be a parent.  It was devastating to my self-esteem. 

But Bubba kept on being Bubba and we kept on parenting him the best we possibly could.  There were many tears and many challenges and many triumphs and rewards and there still are now that he just turned twelve years old.  My little boy is nearly a teen and we have survived! 

Over the past twelve years we have learned a ton about Asperger's, parenting, friendships, ourselves, and most of all...love. 

In this blog, I hope to share all of those things.  And I hope some of it helps someone else who has a child that made it clear we weren't going to be the stellar parents we thought we would, and that that's just fine, too.