Why does life have to be so hard sometimes?

I just need to let this out. I guess I need to vent. It’s a long one. But I have to write. It’s the only thing I know I need to do right now.

Sometimes, no, all the time, I am jealous of neurotypical (NT) kids. And I am jealous that our daughter has a much easier time than our son.

And I hate that our son has an “invisible” diagnosis and people ASSUME since he looks normal, that he is just a terrible kid, or that I need to better discipline him, or that it’s my fault and I am a push over and would let him get away with murder.

And I hate that part of our sons “invisible” diagnosis includes holding it all in while he is at the babysitter, or daycare, or with anyone besides his mom or dad (mainly mom), bc then people ASSUME we are making his behaviors up.

And I hate that I feel so proud when he does meltdown, or shutdown, or run, bc ha ha! See, I am not making this up. And it is not all in my head. And it is not due to our terrible parenting.

Mr. Man today had required state kinder testing (which, after talking to other kinder mom’s, seems to only be at our school). The kiddos go back with the teacher where they “play” with the kiddo to get a good idea of where they are beginning kindergarten so they can determine how much they improved over the year. It’s supposed to last no more than 20 mins.

At least that is how it works with NT kids.

With our son, he started running off before we even entered the school. He is a big ball of muscle so man-handling him takes a Herculean effort. And then he cried when I finally got him in to the lobby.

So, I had to walk back to the classroom with him, but I couldn’t stay since it is a state test. So I had to slyly slip away. I got to see where his backpack will hang (on a makeshit hanger apart from the other kids….which is good for him, but it ripped out my heart bc it’s another reminder that he not NT)

I got back to the lobby. And I just hear him screaming bloody murder. I hear him scream my name….and I can’t do anything. I have to wait, agonizingly, until they are done.

He comes running out. I guess he started throwing stuff. On one hand, I am glad the teacher got to experience this today, so she can be prepared. On the other hand, my heart has shattered into a million pieces.

I had to choke back my tears and hold it together when he and the teacher came back. And you know why? Because I HATE when my parenting is questioned. All I wanted to do was to hug him and hold him tight. I didn’t want to “parent” him in that moment. But I had to. I had to show his teacher the words I use to try and calm him.

And that sucks. It has been 75 mins since this unfolded, and I am still bawling my eyes out.

I have been so nauseous this past week, and it didn’t click until today, that I am so stressed about tomorrow, that I am making myself physically ill.

I have dreamed of the day that I get to walk him into the school and get him lined up. But I can’t. I want to be able to take the obligatory first day of school picture. But I can’t. And that breaks my heart. He won’t get out of the car tomorrow if I go. He will scream bloody murder if I go.

I am his security blanket.

Being a parent to a “special needs” child with super quirks…sucks. A lot. All these things should come easy and not have to be given a second thought about.

But in the end, while my heart may be broken into a gazillion pieces, I wouldn’t trade our boy for anything. He is so smart, and creative, and genuine, and beautisome, and caring, and sparkly.

P.s. on a side note, we got the written results from our appt last week. And I don’t have the stomach or courage to open them right now.

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