My little man

I promised I wouldn't have a "mom blog". Sure, this blog isn't much about mother hood but this post is. Oops

My little man who is now three and a big brother, is often on my mind. As every mother does, I worry that I am a terrible mother. I try my best to not have his delays and quirks worry me or cause me to think, "If only I....he wouldn't...".

I'm always on a quest to help him, especially cause it seems the red tape of health care and education do anything but. For example, I waited two months for a referral for a consultation only regarding his recurrent ear infections and glue ear. Never mind his other problems. That doctor wasn't even taking consultations so I had to do another referral. That doctor was out of network even though it said he was in. After hours on the phone, the third referral clears and the representative says oh there's no doctors in your area. I think Well sure, since I live in the sticks, but there's something like ten million people within two hours of here so there has to be a ton of doctors! Right? She says no. I lose my cookies or marbles or whatever. She does some trickery and finds ONE in the entire area. Now I have to wait three more months for an appointment. And after that, any and all treatment must be in network...even though the network solely looks in my son's ear and says "yup...infected....here have some killer antibiotic and here sign up for ear tube surgery. Again. A third time." So I will go down the same path that has failed me twice.

I am trying everything and might seem like a hypochondriac to some, as I bookmark things on autism, SPD, hearing loss, verbal apraxia, and more. Like having a label will cure him....and yet I continually seek a label to explain my sickly, language delayed, tantrum-crazy super sensitive most awesome little man ever.

I want a label so when he has a tantrum in he grocery store and kicks and cries and makes me drag him around (literally...as he loves to play dead possum), I can give onlookers some snarky retort about them gawking at a special needs child. I want a label for when people ask him how old he is (he says nothing) and then ther guess one or two (since he is super tiny and a.picky eater up barely even eats what he loves), I have an answer..."well ma'am he has XYZ but he is three and amazing don't you think?"

I most of all want a label because then I can find a cure. Better diet? Behavioral training? Medicines? More visits to the chiropractor? Surgery?

I most most most of all want to get to the bottom of all this. I never ever want to hear "he will grow out of it" or "just wait and see".

When I interact with his brother, I hate to compare the two but his brother is so so so much easier and calmer. I can do dishes while he sits in his high chair. I can go to the bathroom without a twenty minute tantrum. But does that make his little brother better or more loved? Certainly not.

My little man is overly sensitive but that also means he is so loving and kind. He loves to play with the pets and other children and kisses me when I cry. He brings diapers to his brother when he cries. He notices people's moods better than anyone and often remarks on them. For example, on Thomas and Friends, Sir Toppemhat lost his hat. Right as he did, even though Toppemhat was not yet looking sad, my son says, "hih ha, huh ha he sa" (his hat his hat he is sad) and starts signing the ASL sign for sad.

I love my special little man and that is that.