It’s Tough, But You’re Tougher.

-It’s Tough, But You’re Tougher-

One of the things that will forever amaze me about this kid is his resilience. His ability to push through.
To bounce back.

Earlier in the week, Beckett and I went into an appointment at a new (to us) location, to discuss next steps in aiding him in coping with overstimulation to his surroundings.

Think about it…
The sounds of televisions.
Music.
Toys.
Kitchen gadgets chirping.
Vacuums.
Ringing phones.
Our pets howling.
Neighborhood kids yelling outdoors.
The list goes on.
It’s a lot for one mind to process all at once!

I’m overwhelmed just listing them out.

At this new office, Beckett and I sat in the waiting room. And we waited for a whole hour (mind you, this was even after we showed up 20 minutes early for the appointment – because Mama has to prepare, always).

The wait was horrid.
But… This. Kid. Was. A. Rockstar.

He sat in the little chair next to me. He giggled and smiled at the people coming and going (also a rareity for him), rocked, and bounced, and hummed.
He attempted to get up from his seat a time or ten, but quickly hopped on his bum, with a calm nudge from Mom.
“Beckett, can you sit back down next to Mama?”.
Mickey Mouse video clips helped as well… but let’s pretend for a sec that it was just super stellar parenting.

Perfect.

Finally, we got called back into the room to be seen, and then waited an additional 15min for the physician to appear. But Beckett was yet content.
He skipped, and galloped, and laughed as he moved around the room, examining all the medical equipment on the walls.
The vivid posters.
The music.
The other kiddos hollering in other rooms.

And as the doctor came in, nearly 75min past his scheduled appointment time, Beckett had had enough. He was overstimulated and now anxious.

He went into meltdown mode.
Upon entering the room, she politely greeted him. Beckett’s face dropped. The anxiety washed over his little face like a wave.

You can’t predict it. And you can’t stop it from happening.

His immediate response was to drop to the ground.
For him that looks like shoes flying off. Crocodile tears. Kicking. And the “tapping”/“banging” of his head on the floor, in frustration.
Like anyone, he has his threshold, and once it was surpassed, he wanted out.
Out of the room. Out of his noisy mind. Out of the situation.

Thankfully, we had met this doctor before and she knows a few of Beckett’s buttons. She’s quite familiar with ASD. And she knew not to push any further in that moment.

Gasp I sucked in a hard breath and felt like I held it in, for the next 10 minutes. It’s HARD to see your child endure that. To see them struggle in that way. Helpless.

And then something amazing happened. As the doctor focused her attention in on me, Beckett calmed. He slowly got quieter. He went back to exploring the room, and even approached her to sit near her.
I held that same breath in, as she pulled out her stethoscope.

Beckett fussed, and squirmed, but he stayed put.
He then reached out, touched it, (still fussing), and allowed her to put it on his tummy. When he was over it, he pushed it away and she obliged.

Beckett noticed her compliance. He appreciated it.
Because what happened next is a game changer.
A first.

The doctor turned her attention back to me, addressing my questions, and Beckett stared at her, inspecting her carefully. And then he reached out, grabbed her stethoscope around her neck, and put it on his own tummy.
Then took the next step of attempting to put it back into her ears for her.

sigh I let out that big ol’ breath I had been holding in for an eternity, and just about cried.

This is a kid that used to cover his eyes if someone would look his way. Any contact with others made him incredibly uncomfortable.
And slowly but surely he is opening up. He’s trying hard to let the world in. And I couldn’t be more proud!
I see just how hard it is for him some days. And baby steps aren’t baby steps for him.

This mama is so proud of the motivation and determination this kid pulls. From where, I’ll never fully grasp.
I know the meltdowns are tough, sweet boy. There’s just too much in this world to process.
But everyday, you’re proving you’re tougher.
And I’ll help in any way I can.

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I’m a Mama to a preemie miracle little boy, on the Autism spectrum. A loving wife of US Navy Veteran. A Blogger. A chaser of naps. And a lover of all things caffeinated.

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