Oliver is turning five at the end of March, and I kind of can’t believe it. Maybe it’s because he was my first baby, but I still think of him as a little guy. Well – little in spirit, since he’s roughly the size of a very short middle school child…
And truly, he’s so far from toddlerdom, I can’t even pretend anymore. He doesn’t need me nearly as much as he used to. He can get himself a snack – typically not the kind I would have selected for him…but still. He can turn on lights (yeah – electric bill!) and the television. He can even dress himself although his apathy for wearing clothes makes for some rather incomplete outfits – usually missing pants.
And he never ceases to amaze me with his talent for putting on any shirt inside out and backwards.
Anyway – I can’t help but think about how the apron strings still firmly knotted through his belt loops just keep getting longer and longer. Now, when we play outside, he’ll often disappear from my line of sight. Something that would once have been the source of a panicked sprint in the direction I last saw him and possibly some pre-hysterical yelling of his name. Now I lean toward a much calmer mosey and unconcerned yoo-hooing for his return to the fold. Of course, that’s typically followed by some bellowing about notdoingthatnottouchingthatnoteatingthat… But that’s another issue altogether.
When he was a newborn, we lived in a third floor condo apartment. The trash chute was only four doors down from ours, but for the life of me, I could not bring myself to leave my tiny baby alone for five seconds to take out the garbage. I was convinced that I would one day lock myself out while my son lay trapped in the apartment, wailing from fear and hunger.
So I did what any other concerned mother would do – I took him with me. And holding Oliver in one arm while I used my other hand to carry that one trash bag was pretty easy. Even opening the door to the trash room was simple enough. The complications began when I had to open the chute.
It opened in much the same way that a mailbox does, but there was a latch that needed to be held down in order to pull the handle. Most definitely a two hand job. While I could open the chute with one hand, I still needed to hold it open so I could lift the bag into it. And this presented an entirely new venue for my mania.
Since my other hand was already in use for baby detail, I had to look to other body parts for assistance. Unfortunately, the chute was located too high on the wall for me to secure it with my foot or my hip. So left with waist up options, the only feasible candidate was my elbow.
The process was that I would first open the chute with my right hand. Then, holding that down, I’d press Oliver to my chest with my left arm and rest that elbow on the open door. Then, as I cut off his oxygen supply, I would say approximately five Hail Marys while I let go with my right hand and used it to pick up the trash bag, even thought I’m technically not Catholic and hadn’t been to Mass in years. Then I dropped it in the chute, and the minute it left my grasp I would wrap both arms tightly around Oliver and say prayers of thanks to God for not letting me drop my baby with the trash.
Every day.
You would think I’d pull out the stroller for this – but what can I say? A mother’s love and paranoia go far beyond reason.
As the year went on, I took the CA-RAY-ZEE down a notch and relaxed a bit. I could watch my toddler run around on the grass and not worry about every stumble and scraped knee. While I hated the idea of him being hurt in any way, I knew that the falls were inevitable and all part of learning to stand, walk, run…grow. Like all other mothers, I knew that I had to let go a little. And the apron strings lengthened.
Having the twins when Oliver was still a baby himself probably helped. I simply didn’t have the luxury of time for unnecessary worry. I embraced the old adage that children bounce and just held my breath (and said a few Hail Marys) when I saw him doing something perfectly normal that still made me nervous.
But I’d be lying if I claimed to take everything in stride. There was always a resonance deep below my love and pride for my children that screamed, “DON’T…STOP…DANGER!” And sometimes it was pretty hard to ignore. I could turn myself inside out from the fear that anything could happen. That every step they took away from me could lead them into forces beyond my control. What if Oliver tripped on the stairs and broke his neck? What if a rabid squirrel attacked him? What if a big crack opened up in the ground? The possibilities were endless.
Fortunately, I am not a complete psychopath and never take this beyond ordinary watchful wariness. But the irony of the situation is that my big beautiful boy who has never been seriously ill or hurt in his life continues be a constant source of worry for me.
No – not just worry…fear. Bone chilling, stomach churning fear of the far more possible what ifs. What if he still can’t hold real conversations by the time he starts Kindergarten in the Fall? What if he’s so awkward that the other kids are cruel to him? What if he starts to realize that he’s different…an outsider…?
I put up this strong front of not caring what anyone else thinks, and I actually don’t – for myself. But I do care for him. I care so much – too much, and it tears me up inside to imagine him feeling any less than a bright, sensitive boy so full of potential.
But those apron strings aren’t retractable. I can’t stop him from falling. All I can do is be at the ready with bandaids and open arms. They’ll always be there as long as he’ll have them. Which won’t be forever…but again, that’s another issue altogether…
Please don’t comment with the “you’re such a good mom” pats on the back, because the truth is – I’m not. Or at least, I could be so much better when it comes to this oldest child of my heart. I hate research…I’m terrible at schedules and structure…I have of yet to discover effective punishment for bad behavior… This doesn’t come naturally to me – this mothering of a special needs child. I’m good at the love, patience and acceptance part – but not so good at the “work” involved.
But I’m trying. I sit with Oliver and help him practice his pencil grip. I encourage him to work on the things that would be easy for him if he just tried. I wheedle him into trying the things that don’t come so easily with baby steps and little pressure. And I watch as he dresses, no matter how long it takes, reminding him to stay focused. I show him how to make sure his shirt isn’t inside out and correct him when he starts to put in on backwards.
And he’s learning. His shirt is now rarely inside out and backwards.
For a few years now, my heart has felt inside out and backwards. But I’m learning too. And with a little time, I think I’ll get it right.
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ELSEWHERE:
On Wishing True…
Interiors in Art from Mariska Meijers
Beautiful Bangles from Kate Spade
On Style Key West…
Very touching. You may not always get it right (who can and/or does??) or think you're a good mom, but we out here see how lucky Oliver and the twins are to have you. And they each will too and that's what will matter.
Loved this look at Oliver, "the early years!" He looked like a happy little frat boy off to the steeplechase in that one pic. Too cute!
Thanks for the honest look into you, Kate. I remember the post you wrote about taking the kids to the grocery store and I so admired your patience in the throes of that particular nightmare! It may take you some time to find your way, but I'm sure you will.
And if it makes you feel any better – I think the "no-pants" thing is just the way boys are. At least my boy!
as always so honest and eloquent… on a funny note- it always amazed me how daniel could go the whole day with his underwear on backwards and not say a word:)hugs!
Even though you have doubts about being a good mother, You are the best. Such love, such caring, and such good mothering. I think with horror of all the things I did when you kids were little that I felt in retrospect were "bad" and yet when I try to discuss them with you, you either don't remember or say it didn't matter. When I discussed this with a therapist she said "Don't worry, your kids know that they are well and truly loved". Remember that. Your Oliver and George and Eleanor know that they are"well and truly loved" and protected and cherished.
Not only are you the world's best Mom you are the world's best daughter.
I'm sorry, but I have to say it – you are such a great mom to all three of your kids Kate. Little Oliver (even tho he may not be so little anymore!) is in such good, caring, capable hands. I hate the punishment/learning how to correct behaviour side of parenting too. It doesn't come to naturally to me at all. When my mom was just visiting I was asking her why she was telling Fiona no for certain things, and she said someone has to. Oops. I guess I need to set more boundaries…that's my challenge. Anyway, Oliver is adorable – loved the retrospective, and that first picture is just shockingly cute – he really looks like a perfect image of both you and Chris!
That was a nice post. My youngest is turning 5 in April. Sigh.
I know what you mean about the "you're such a good mom/dad." Um, no. Just winging it.
He is lucky to have you, that Oliver!
That's right, Oliver is getting everything he needs from you and he'll figure it all out in his own way when the time is right.
Great post, Kate! he will treasure this one day. He's adorable. Have a super weekend!
We all have strengths and weaknesses. I am so rigid in my schedule,that I find myself flipping out if we are 30 late for nap time. It is not healthy.
Also, Izzy refuses to wear clothes too. Little boys are strange creatures.
I can't believe how grown up he looks! I love the picture with the tie…I hope you have one in a frame. So cute.
It's so hard knowing what to do and when to do it for your children. There is always things you could do better or more of but as long as you care and are trying to do the best, then you are a great mom.
You are great with your kids, in the end the important thing is that they feel safe in your love and they do!
You know, Phoebe is going into Second grade and I swear, I think the only thing she needs from me now is to drive her everywhere. It's hard to let go, being she is my only but I know I must.
You know, all moms (at least the ones that are being honest with themselves) sometimes feel that they are inadequate, but I think that mothers of special needs children feel it more, because the standard playbook just doesn't work. Your friends' advice doesn't work. The advice in the books and message boards just doesn't work. All those things that should work, that make sense, just don't. Instead, you get a list a mile long of things you "should be doing" to avoid certain catastrophe and utter peril. Didn't work on that particular sensory exercise this week? Your child is doomed! Didn't do the communication building exercises and the word enrichment exercises? Your child is doomed! Didn't schedule 47.3 playdates this week, so that your child can see more typical behaviors to emulate? Didn't facilitate advanced interactive imaginative play during those 47.3 playdates? Doomed! DOOMED I SAY!
Yeah.
It can be very hard to feel that you're getting it "right".
The good news? There is no absolutely right, and everything is relative. Just talking with and engaging your child as you drive home from school models communication. Letting them slide down the couch cushions teaches coordination and exposes them to new textures and sensations (all the better if they're pantsless at the time). Keeping them fed and reasonably well rested gives them the tools they need to meet the world – on their OWN terms, to meet it where they are now, and to progress along the path that is theirs to follow.
You can't force it, and you can't provide a perfect environment. All you can do, all you need to do, all you SHOULD do, is love them through it and do your reasonable best. It's enough. It IS enough.
xox
PS And read this. The specifics are different from Oliver's, but the analogy is brilliant, and translates perfectly to a whole host of challenges.
PPS Love that sooty nose photo, too cute!
I'm still laughing at you trying to put the trash in the chute and hoping Oliver didn't go down with it!
thanks for sharing and thanks for letting me believe that someone understands what we go through….
smile and hey. i miss you!
xoxo
This is such a lovely look at your son. And you are a good mom because you do what you can in the best way possible for your son and the twins.
I loved this Kate. I think what I love most about your posts on mothering and your kids is your honesty. It's refreshing. I think that's one of the best things you can offer your kids. They want you. And that's what you give them.
Thanks for this peek into Oliver's life.
Oh my goodness. I think I am crying a little bit. Boys have such a way of embedding themselves on our hearts : ) and perhaps in our garbage chutes : )
My oldest will be 13 by the time summer is over, and will be one more year away from high school. High. School. I want to scream that and cheer that in the same breath. I think we just do the best we can do every day, sometimes every hour, to do what we have to for our children. If that means I have to remind him to fix his shirt (because, yeah, the kid still sometimes goes an entire day with his shirt inside out and backward, too), well, then, some days that's the best I can do.
You've got a beautiful almost five year old. I hope he feels all those things you want him to feel, too.
The pictures are just wonderful. Word of warning, though–the backwards shirt? Yeah, that continues on until at least 13 years old or so.