Autism & Amazing Parents

It's widely accepted that autism parents are saintly, wholesome creatures who could teach the Walton's a thing or two about being virtuous.  We have been gifted by the Gods with an eternal wellspring of patience, shouldering our load with inner tranquility.   We dispense kindly pearls of wisdom to those in trouble, having cultivated our Zen through the serene endurance of hardships.  

It is whispered that Buddha and Jesus are kinda jealous of the level of enlightenment we radiate.

Autism parents are the true Latter Day Saints.

"go in pieces"

No.  We're.  Fucking.  Not.

I'm having a shit day with Finian and I've just given him his third bag of crisps to try to stop him crying.  Learning to regulate his own emotions is a work in progress.  He's OK at indicating that a shower or a walk would calm him down, but he's unable to identify the reason for his irritability.  Equally, I'm OK at using Mindfulness and Other Tricks to help me attempt to co-regulate his emotions, but this relies on me getting enough sleep and eating properly.  This doesn't always happen.

Some days it all goes to shit and all I can do is throw crisps at him and hope it'll pass soon.

Today is one of those days that grabbing a shower is a hazy dream, and cooking a proper meal is the stuff of fantasy.  Balancing a Gin and Tonic on the ironing board while I tackle the laundry seems much more conducive to coping, as does a phone call to our friendly (and very familiar) take-away.  

You do what you gotta do to manage.

It's important that we forgive ourselves for being less than perfect, and for breaking the rules to survive a hard day.

Today I look like a small family of weasels live in my hair, and I seem to be wearing my husband's clothes (and not in a fun, Friday night sorta way).  Finian's breath stinks of salt & vinegar, and I may be half-baked by bedtime.

But I'm OK with not being an Amazing Parent.

Being OK will do grand.

The Waltons.
Off their tits on Mogadon.