I am certain that every new parent feels overwhelmed at one point or another, but in my case, it was a daily battle. Lennox, my dear son, was what could only be described as a "difficult" baby. We tried everything we knew and some things we didn't. He cried a lot. I cried a lot. I talked to other parents, but never wanted to say just how much I was struggling because it made me feel like a failure. I thought that I was failing at motherhood because I was struggling so much and couldn't do any of the things I thought we should be doing.
That is what my first two years of parenthood were. I never stopped loving my son, not for a moment, but I certainly envied the parents who could handle taking their kids out to places alone and they didn't have meltdowns anytime there was a loud noise. I was jealous of the moms who talked about lulling their kids to sleep with the sound of a vacuum cleaner. I was scared when what seemed like nothing to me would render him immobile, covering his ears and curling into a fetal position. But at least then there were signs as to what may be happening. Before that, it was just frustrating and confusing for all of us.
I forget who exactly it was who first said that this wasn't typical behavior. I think part of me always assumed that all kids were like that in some ways, or that he was just extra excitable and energetic like many of the other people in my side of the family. I was so thankful, though, for the people who finally came forward and said that he was difficult. It actually made me feel better, that maybe I wasn't failing so much. Maybe he was different.
Finally, we talked to our pediatrician and contacted Early Intervention. They came to our home and just played with him, asking about his behavior and what he knew and what he could and couldn't do. He just thought he had a friend over to play with, but we gained valuable insight and more importantly, support. He was almost three by this time, but they made sure that we got in touch with a psychologist who started Lennox's evaluation process.
The elephant in the room and the word I haven't used yet: autism. He had some of the signs and behaviors, but after lengthy evaluation the psychologist said that Lennox was just too social to fit the classic ASD diagnosis. What she DID say, though, was that Lennox had Sensory Processing Disorder. Finally, we had words to attach to his behaviors. We were able to begin to understand why he panicked when a train rumbled passed. We were able to understand why he would ask "What's that noise?" when we didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. His hearing was more in tune than others and his mind didn't have the same abilities to drown it out that most people's did.
It gave us resources. He started occupational therapy with a wonderful woman affectionately known as "Ms Rachel" who helped him overcome the panic episodes. She helped him learn to use his fingers better and to ride a bike. She helped him with a hundred tiny things along the way. The diagnosis helped us understand him, and it will help him when he gets to school if there are any other resources that he needs.
Next month, we are going back to the psychologist. The Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis isn't off the table yet. This process, though, has taught me that whatever diagnoses we receive, it doesn't define who my son is. Lennox is a kind, animal loving, Rescue Bots obsessed little boy who LOVES construction vehicles and playing outside. He also happens to have Sensory Processing Disorder. He also may have autism.
His diagnosis doesn't define him anymore than his eyesight does. It is something that we know about, that we give him tools that help him function in a world where most people don't have to deal with these diagnoses, but they are just tools. They are not him.
