I was so worried this little blog was starting to reveal too many intimate details of my children's lives. Details maybe they did not want the world to read, see, or know.
Now I feel it can only help (us, others, you?) if I talk about it. It is not hurting my children to illuminate this journey we've been on for months. Years if we really trace it all back. We have been walking this unknown path together, sometimes getting pricked by sticker bushes, other times tickled with dandelion puffs. All the while moving closer to things making more sense.
Things are starting to make a lot more sense now.
Grayson has been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder. His sister is on her way to being diagnosed as well.
As I've mentioned before, Grayson has always been a little too much like me with his awareness. "Hyper-sensitive," I called it. "Connected to the universe" I say. He was a baby like no other: acutely aware and reactive to his surroundings, sounding off with
"You're spoiling him by holding him all the time."
"He just needs Day Care."
"Boy, you sure have your hands full with this one!"
"You have very high maintenance children."
"She is a spirited one."
"You are not disciplining them well enough."
"He reminds me of this kid with autism I babysit."
"Nothing wrong with spanking sometimes."
"Maybe they need less sugar in their diet."
Looking back, Grayson and Abby were teaching me from the very beginning.
They were showing me who they were and what they needed from the world before they could walk. Grayson expressed himself in poems: Mommy, dat horse sings for hims food. Abby, our ballerina, has never remained seated in a restaurant that has piped in music. She has done interpretive dances for audiences all over: Ruby Tuesday, Outback, and Silver Diner.
But both of my babies suffered when I wasn't getting it. (For Grayson) Why won't you sleep? Why do you hate play dates? Why can't you just sit in the swing for a few minutes while I cook dinner? Why won't you wear anything with seams? (For Abby) Why do you scream when Daddy washes your hair? Why are you always naked?! Why do you talk SO LOUD all the time, child? Why am I cleaning up yet another mess? Did you seriously just hit your head again?
Thank God I have enough experience in special education to know about sensory integration issues. Both kids have them. Both kids are struggling in their day-to-day lives because of the sensory issues. Both kids needed evaluating and soon.
Grayson has been in Occupational Therapy for four weeks and it has produced absolute magic. Not kidding when I say magic. His behaviors have gone from crippling worry (stomachaches, sobbing before school, headaches, migraines resulting in hours of projectile vomiting, meltdowns, tantrums, debilitating irrational fears, obsessing and perseverating over time and numbers, roller coaster mood swings, you name it Dude had it) to becoming a well balanced, happy, (according to his teachers) animated jokester of a child!
Had I not witnessed the change myself, I would not believe it.
I'm here to tell you Occupational Therapy works. (For Grayson, Therapeutic Listening has worked the most, he had SEVERE auditory discrimination stuff going on.)
Don't you just want to live here?
From now on, I intend to write about Sensory Processing Disorder often. I am reading everything. All of it. The entire internet full of it. I am obsessed with helping my children live the best life they can. And along the way guess what? I'm beginning to understand myself. Yeah, shocker. I'm the one who gave it to them. Damn you, genetic pool of wonder.
Don't worry, we will still have loads of marital, canine, children faux pas to show off around here but no more hiding away the good stuff.
Sensory Processing Disorder. Don't let the Disorder part scare you. It's just "Order" with a crappy prefix. Oh, and if you're worried that Sensory Processing Disorder is not real (maybe your doctor doesn't recognize it because it's not yet listed in the DSM-V), remind yourself that labels are only as important as the treatment. I could not care less if they called it Spatula Prostate Dysmorphia. It would probably get put in that DSM-V book if that were the case. Ha.
Let's rejoice in the journey. Our seamlsess, 100% cotton, sound-proof, balance beam walking, yoga ball bouncing uphill journey.