Pity Party, Party of One

The last few days have been roughly tough and emotional in our house. It started with Mini's verbal regression and then smacked me in the face this morning with a full on old school style meltdown when it was time to get on the bus. As with most of his meltdowns, the trigger isn't really known nor does he verbalize why he's upset. Instead he does what we call wet noodle. His body goes completely limp and he shuts down, right down to closing his eyes. Have you ever had to carry 52 pounds of completely limp human? I have. It was this morning (and many, many other times), pulling his slumped over carcass up the flight of bus stairs. The bus drove off and there I stood confused. The regression had slid back to the wet noodle. It felt like we were back at the beginning all over again. And then I got mad. Mad at the whole situation. This journey is hard enough for families with ample help, but walking through this journey by myself 75% of the time made me even more mad. And so I stewed for a bit, and then I cried. Cried because I wasn't more understanding. Cried because I was angry with Mini for reacting the only way that his brain knows how. Cried because I felt sorry for myself. There it was. I felt sorry for myself. In a world that's falling apart everywhere you look, I was having a pity party for myself. I felt stupid. The way I see it I have two choices. I can succumb to the "ME" moments or I can put on my big girl pants and persevere. I choose to persevere. Although, don't be surprised if you find me in a momentary lapse of judgement...

Regression

Set backs happen I suppose. Previously potty trained children start having accidents again after the birth of a sibling. A child who was coming out of his shell starts to act shy again around people. For us, regression started last week after 2 months of steadily making progress.

On a Thursday Mini Me jumps off the bus like he always does, only this time he's visibly upset. He's crying and refusing to talk. I give him some space and wait a little while. I ask again, what's wrong? Did something happen at school? On the bus? Nothing. No words, just a head shake and noises. Dreaded noises.

Noises is how Mini used to communicate. You knew he was upset when he burst into his high pitched squeal and ran. He had been doing so well lately with using words to describe when he was upset that I had all forgotten the death squeal. That is of course until last week when it reared it's ugly head. Now I know that I'm suppose to be all motherly and nuturing, but the death squeal kills me. I hear it and it makes me angry. It reminds me of how far we have come and now how far we have regressed. I know that the road is long and not without set backs, but the return of the death squeal? Ugh. Lord help me.