Anniversary

The Boy and I had an argument yesterday.

Post his recent sticker and certificate triumphs, which resulted in our hot date after school yesterday (which included buying him a pair of boots, having a ride on a Paddington car and eating an ice cream), he was in a shocking humour last night when we arrived home.

He was petulant, moody, argumentative and aggressive. He spent twenty minutes arguing intently with me about why he would not be having a bath that evening - he didn't need one, he wasn't dirty; he had one yesterday; he wanted to go on the computer; I was being a big meanie; he just didn't want to.

Over and over, louder and louder, with my repeating, "best voice" or "number 3 voice, please" to no avail. He refused to listen to me, although he was registering what I said.

I was struggling to contain my anger - I feel a bit despondent this week and I keep forgetting to take the mad tablets, so keeping my cool is a bit harder.

I kept calm, we got through the rest of the day with more insolence - his deciding to run his own bath, brush his teeth and his face with toothpaste, his making and then helping himself to sandwiches and toast, getting dressed in day clothes when it was nighttime, turning on the computer and doing a search on space when I had told him that he was not to use it - and I wrote it off as one of those days when I remembered.

On 24th November, 2006, I was told that for all intents and purposes, I may be best served if I "wrote him off". He would never speak, he would never function, he would always rely on me to do everything for him, and really I may like to consider "my options."

I would just like to say, sincerely, to the people who told me that - fuck you. How fucking dare you piss on my hopes and dreams, before The Boy had even got a diagnosis? Who the fuck are you to write a 2 and a half year old kid off, you talentless, fetid wankers? How can you live with yourself after telling someone that their son wasn't "normal"?

So - and I really do mean this - every time I argue with the little shit, every time he disobeys me and trots off to do his own thing regardless, every time I feel like listing the sod on ebay as he's being a wee arse - and I mean EVERY TIME - I will always remember (eventually) when I was told to forget about him. And I never, ever will.

The only thing I can say to you, whoever you are and whatever your situation is - don't quit. Don't give up. Stop running and face it head on (and trust me, I have wanted to run like the clappers away from this whole parenting thing more times than I will ever say aloud. We will ignore that I run from other things but I am trying really hard to stop doing that).

Giving yourself the power to do that, whether it be facing a challenge you can do nothing about, accepting a fact you don't want to, examining why you act in a certain way, accepting your mental health may not be what you hoped it would be - look it in the eye and take the fucker down fighting.


It may take some time for it to sink in (I cried for 5 days non stop, went to the doctor and started those mad tablets I keep forgetting to take, and then decided that no cunt writes my kids off without me raising one hell of a stink, yet he still wasn't diagnosed as being autistic for another 2 years - that anniversary is this Friday). You may know what you need to do and just not be able to - but when you can, when you're ready, and sometimes even if you're not ready you still need to try - fight the good fight. Never, ever quit until you know you can't go any further. And when you feel like that, just keep on a little bit more.

The Boy - a stubborn little shit just like his Mammy. Happy anniversary.