Normally, I try to focus my writing on how hard autism is on my son, Beighbee. He’s the real hero of our autism family. He has a slight cold, and so far autism has drunk all the orange juice and eaten all the marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms. Our household revolves around Beighbee and the suffering autism is imposing on him.
Some days, though, I just need to vent about how hard autism makes my life, too. Like right now. I’m trying to get these expense reports off my desk (I work from home because there are no services for “severe” slight colds like the one Beighbee has), and autism will not stop playing the conga drums.
I’m losing my mind. I’ve tried everything to get autism to stop playing the congas so loudly. I’ve tried shouting, I’ve tried crying, I even tried enrolling autism in a special percussion program to teach it to play the conga drums the way a normal person would. Nothing works, and I am at my wits’ end.
Don’t worry. I’m not Googling how to get away with throwing my autism off a bridge (yet). But some days, nothing in the world is harder than being an Autism Mom. Not even being a Slight Cold Mom.
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