All of the things that I missed

When you have a child, and you bring him home as a tiny newborn, he seems perfect.  In our case, with Elijah, he had no complications after birth, was perfectly healthy, was nursing beautifully, and did not show any signs of any type of abnormality. As a parent, I really thought I had dodged a bullet already. I wasn’t dealing with genetic abnormalities, deformities, serious delivery complications, prematurity, a NICU baby, or some other medical issue. I was bringing home a “perfect” baby. As time went on, my “perfect” baby grew, and started meeting his developmental milestones early. He was a fussy little guy at times, and not the greatest sleeper, but that’s just babies. Lots of them have a hard time establishing good sleep patterns. Overall, he was thriving. He was an awesome eater. He started eating solid foods early and loved them. He did absolutely everything he was supposed to do early. As the year went on, he just blossomed. He started talking early. The doctor told me at every single well baby visit that he was developmentally advanced. I felt so blessed. Having a baby is always an adjustment, but I had been blessed with one without any complications to make the journey extra difficult… or so I thought. I don’t know at what point I started noticing Elijah was different. I mean, I always knew he was different in a good way, because he was meeting milestones early. The problem is, he was my first child, and I had no baseline for what “normal” was exactly. So, when things started happening that were slightly off, I reassured myself with phrases like “all kids are different,” “you have a Master’s degree in social work, you know what the red flags are, he doesn’t have any of those,”  or “gifted children are often quirky and different, and you know he is probably gifted because he is so developmentally advanced and his speech is way ahead of his peers.”  And, there was truth to all of those statements. None of them were particularly far-fetched. So, they were easy to believe… until they weren’t anymore.  

Maybe the tantrums were the first real clue. Around eighteen months, they started. But, toddlers have tantrums. Tantrums are very typical among that age group. So, when they happened, I was convinced I was experiencing a very normal part of having a toddler. No one had ever said how long a tantrum was supposed to last. So, when they lasted 45 minutes, I thought that was just what a tantrum was. Apparently, I was wrong. But, I wouldn’t know this for years. I also didn’t really know what was typical when a tantrum ended. I thought that the additional 30 minutes of soothing and comforting afterwards must have been normal also. It wasn’t until I had my second child and saw him end a tantrum and begin happily playing again with little to no interaction from me that I was completely blown away. Elijah did other things during the tantrums that were atypical as well, but again, I had no baseline for a typical toddler tantrum, so whatever I saw, no matter how strange, I thought was all part of the package. People use the phrase “terrible twos,” all the time. So, when the tantrums were nothing short of terrible, I figured he was right on target. Sometimes, he would bang his head on the floor over and over again until it left a bruise. He would often hit me, kick me, and say hateful things to me (remember, he was very verbally advanced). He would throw things- sometimes so hard it would break them. I remember one time when he was 22 months, he threw a metal tractor so hard that the smokestack broke off of it- a metal, not plastic, smokestack. I now recognize that most of these were actually meltdowns, not tantrums. He was overstimulated, and he was having meltdowns.

When my youngest son, Owen, was a newborn, and Elijah was just turning three, I remember a very specific incident in which Elijah became very upset about something while I was giving a bottle to his brother. He started a tantrum, and it escalated quickly. He began throwing things at me as I was trying to give a bottle to the baby. Objects were flying, his fists were coming at me, I felt my baby was not safe. I took Owen into my bedroom and locked the door to finish his bottle. The entire time, Elijah was pounding violently on the door, screaming, shouting, kicking. I finished giving the bottle, but I was too afraid to come out. I was afraid of a three-year-old. Why did I not think something was wrong? I have no idea why now. Did I really think that was typical behavior? At the time, it was my normal. It was what I lived with. He was my first child. At the time, I really did think everything was okay. He would outgrow it. This was a phase. I had just had a baby. He was adjusting to all the changes. He would be fine, wouldn’t he?

There were always things here and there that were odd about Elijah. Some of them I attributed to differences in personality. We all have things about us that are a little different- personality quirks, so to speak.  One of my professors when I was getting my Master’s degree used to say, “Everything is on a spectrum. Being too far at one end or the other indicates a problem, but nobody is really exactly in the middle where “normal” is on everything. That’s what makes us unique. It’s how we have personalities.”  There were personality quirks for sure, but problems? It was hard to tell when he was very young.

Elijah wasn’t a great sleeper when he was a baby. He had a short phase of sleeping through the night from about six to ten months, but that was it. It took him until over age two do it again. His naps were very short- 30 to 45 minutes. He just didn’t seem to like to sleep much.  There were people who suggested we try different methods of sleep training. They did not work at all. Letting him cry it out was the absolute worst advice we were ever given. I really was not very comfortable with the idea, but reluctantly tried it when nothing else would work. Elijah could not self soothe, no matter what. It didn’t matter how many hours we let him cry, he was never going to stop until we helped him. The first night, he cried for three hours. Each night, it is supposed to get easier, but with Elijah, it got worse. The more aware he became that no one was going to soothe him, the more worked up he became, and his ability to self soothe got even worse. I know people thought we just weren’t doing it right, that we gave up to easily. These people had no idea. They didn’t live in our home. They didn’t hear that his cries didn’t become weaker until he fell asleep, as one would eventually expect. They didn’t hear the cries escalating to the point he sounded like he was demon possessed, making almost a growling sound as he writhed around his crib, banging his head on things, kicking, unable to stop. Watching our child suffer this way was unbearable. We simply had no choice but to pick him up and rock him when he woke in the night. He needed it. And he went back to sleep fine when we did. 

In general, he was a somewhat fussy baby. He required a lot of being picked up, held, and entertained. He was not good at soothing himself or entertaining himself very well. He got upset easily. I wasn’t able to get much accomplished when Elijah was in my care. I remember hearing from other moms about things they did, and I always wondered how they could do them while caring for a baby. My baby needed to be picked up all the time, soothed, entertained. There was not much else I could do but take care of him when he was awake, which was a lot, since he barely napped. The things I did accomplish I felt like were at the expense of his happiness, meaning we had to eat, so to cook something he had to be put down, and often cried the entire time I did it. I still thought that this was just what having a baby was like. I had heard over and over how much work it was, so I assumed that was what I was experiencing- all the hard work. Anytime it seemed other moms had it easier, I felt like they were just better at it than I was. Maybe they could get things done because they just had better skills to keep their babies calm and happy. I guess it never really occurred to me that something wasn’t quite right with my baby. I tend to think I am the problem when things go wrong.

Transitions were tough for Elijah. Waking up from a nap, for example, was a process. He always woke up crying. He had to be picked up and held, usually for awhile. I don’t mean 5-10 minutes, more like a half hour or more. This was the case all the way until he stopped napping at age two and a half. If you got up or tried to put him down any sooner than when he was ready, there would be a meltdown. He could not transition to being awake without help. Again, no ability to self soothe.

Transitions to and from one place to another were sometimes difficult also. Taking him places always presented the possibility of a challenge because we never really knew when a transition might be difficult. One day, he might be thrilled to go to the store with me and have a great time. Other times, he might become upset over something in the car and be so worked up I would be afraid to take him into the store. Often, leaving the store was the worst. He didn’t like to leave once he had been there awhile.

Haircuts were, and still are, a big problem. Elijah, to this day, has never had a professional haircut. He did have one attempt by a professional stylist who came to our home to cut his hair, but that was unsuccessful. Thankfully, I have been cutting Scott’s hair with clippers for years and can do a basic trim for a little boy. And, I am probably exceptionally good at it now, since giving Elijah a haircut is like what I imagine it would be like to give one to a feral animal! He has meltdowns through the entire haircut. He writhes around, screams, pushes, makes awful sounds that are not even real words, even though he has an advanced vocabulary. He usually starts drooling, and huge tears roll down his face. When all is said and done, you would think I had been trying to kill him instead of cutting his hair. Nail cutting is the same. Thankfully, he is now old enough that he is learning to cut his own nails, which is a huge improvement. The hair is going to be a problem for a long time, I am afraid. So, you might ask, did I realize that this is not normal? Absolutely. The haircut reaction has always been one that I did have concerns about from the very beginning. I had no excuses or explanations for this one. It was abnormal for sure.

The strangest things set Elijah off. He cannot stand certain tones of voice, certain songs, and certain types of joking. It bothers him so badly he actually shouts, and sometimes comes after the person physically who says them. One example of this started when he was three years old. He loved to watch Peppa Pig. One day, we were watching it on YouTube, which plays multiple episodes at a time in compilations. He was happily enjoying an episode of the show. That one ended, and a new one started to come on called “Sports Day.’ He immediately started screaming. He ran out of the room covering his ears. I followed him to see what was wrong. He refused to tell me, just kept covering his ears and making this awful sound he makes when he is distressed. He eventually came back into the room on his own, continued to watch the same episode that had been playing before, and now seemed fine. A few minutes later, it happened again. Seemingly out of nowhere, he covered his ears, and ran out of the room screaming. This time, he started shouting, “turn off that song! Turn it off!”

“On Peppa Pig?” I asked.

“Yes. I can’t listen to that song! Turn it off now!”  I turned it off.

“Is that what was bothering you the first time?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t like it!” He seemed terrified.  The song was nothing more than an instrumental interlude played during the introduction of new scenes in this particular episode. There was nothing unusually loud, high pitched, or anything distinctive about it. But, for whatever reason, it bothered him to the point he could not handle it.

Over time, we discovered that there were several other episodes of Peppa Pig that contained this same music. The reaction was the same. We learned what they were, and we had to avoid them completely.

One day, I was humming Peppa Pig music. I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing, just absent mindedly humming along, when all of the sudden Elijah started screaming, then ran at me and hit me. “Elijah, what was that for?” I shouted angrily.

“That song! You were humming that awful song!”

I realized I had been. “I am sorry, Elijah. I didn’t mean to. I’ll be more careful from now on. But, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to come at me like that.”

From that day on, anyone who hummed that song got attacked. He would scream and go into a seemingly uncontrollable rage when he heard it. This reaction lasted for literally years.

To his day, he will hit you if you hum it, but now he laughs a little, so I think he is really over what initially bothered him about it and it has become a game. But, for a long time, it definitely wasn’t.

Tones of voice are another issue. For some reason, he cannot stand the typical tone a person uses when listing off choices to someone.  We have a very difficult time when trying to decide what he wants for a meal. I list choices, and my tone bothers him so much he cannot answer the question.

“Stop saying it in that voice!” he shouts.

I try to alter my tone, but it is very difficult when you are used to speaking a certain way. Sometimes it is still too close to sounding the way he thinks it shouldn’t and he starts screaming.  “Not that voice either!” he will shout. I have plans to try offering picture choices to see how that goes. This is a recent development, so I haven’t had a chance to explore alternatives yet. 

I am going to stop here today, because I realize how long this post is. I will continue with more things that I missed in a future post.