Yesterday was a tough, tough day. The last 2 days have been tough, because I still have a few days left at my job, but school has been cancelled thanks to flooding. I did double duty all day, mostly letting the kids watch TV – I know, so bad, but we all gotta do what we gotta do.
When she’s home, Zoe now has a fascination with the bathroom. She keeps running water, and I have to keep the toilet paper up high or else it ends up in the toilet. I try to keep her out, but she’s not hurting anyone if the soap and any paper items are away from her reach. Then she started drinking the water, which is nasty, and so I put her toy cup up on a top shelf.
That backfired because the next time she went in, she closed the door and she stood on the toilet bowl, now thinking this high shelf was the place to put her toys. She had major fit every time I tried to open the door. She took off her pullup, and finally let me in. (No she did not do her business in the toilet. I was hopeful but no luck.)
I gave her a pullup and a smile, and she had a major meltdown. She did NOT want to put said pullup on. This happens from time to time. Sometimes she has just an irritation, I believe, not even always visible, but I give her some time and then she’s fine and on goes the pullup. This time, however, as I waited, she peed.
In the living room.
On my carpet.
Crap. Or actually, not crap, that would have been far worse, but whoa…
So, I tried to put on the pullup, but she was not having any of that. I decided to bring her upstairs for a bath. She needed one and that will usually distract her, and she’ll put it on after. But she loudly and vocally refused a bath and tried to go downstairs. I tried the pullup again because I was NOT letting her downstairs bare-assed again.
A Def Con 4 Meltdown ensued.
For. 45. Minutes.
I sat down on the stairs, not relishing my new role as Hall Monitor. That girl tried everything to go over, under, and around me to get downstairs. I got nervous with her hijinks on the stairs,and put her in her room and closed the gate. Holy cow, that child can scream. I sat back at the top of the stairs, and prayed. I had no idea if I was doing the right thing. With autism, there is always this modicum of doubt that a traditional parenting method won’t work, that a tantrum is not just “I want it”, but a sensory or other processing issue, that you ARE DOING THE WRONG THING. I prayed, and felt a sense that I was doing the right thing, to hang in there.
I let her out, and was relieved by her calming a bit, then pointing at the steps. “Downstairs?”
I replied, “Pullup, then downstairs.”
The screaming ensued, but I knew she understood and I doubted this tantrum was a brain problem. This went on for something like 30 minutes. At one point, Amelia, bored downstairs, came up and started to play with Zoe, who was consoling herself by lying on the bed. Amelia left the room, and Zoe followed, but I stood in the doorway, pullup in hand. “Pullup, then downstairs.” She stopped, and I knelt down to put it on her and…
She raised her foot so I could.
Score one for mommy! Now, I could use a shot, lol…
