Not really. But I might as well be. Seriously, she does a pretty good version of what I have going on from about 5am – 7pm day in, day out.
My darling 6yo has become a noisemaking machine and it’s doing my head in.
You can take it for an hour or so. But as the day rolls on, the volume goes up, the excitement levels escalate. The quite acceptable, gregorian chant-like droning becomes screaching. My one remaining nerve just got squawked into oblivion and … I’ve lost it, again.
It’s stimming. Noisy stimming. The ribbon is flapping and flicking. He’s jumping around like he’s on fire with those whole body Peter Garrett dance moves.
Yep – Yoko Ono + Peter Garrett = my life.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to go to my happy place where sound cannot hurt me. I’m breathing deeply, I’m staring off into the distance, transporting my tired, dehydrated, overworked brain to quieter times.
But then I snap back to reality, and the boy is happily slurping down the dregs from that double shot espresso I made for myself this morning. Hmmm. There’s something about the smell of coffee that speaks to my sweet boy. At least he is quiet for a moment.
Well. Autism mums are nothing if not lateral thinkers, especially when feeling slightly de-railed. So my short term solution is –
I would fill my ears with cement but then I couldn’t hear all the fabulous language he is coming out with in between all the horrendous noise. I’ve waited years to hears these words, these phrases. They are sweet little drops of heaven in between the devilish cacophonic soundtrack.