I think I have finally figured it out. Just like Charlie Brown when he dropped that clinking nickel in Lucy's jar and had her psychoanalyze him. He had his "THAT'S IT!" moment, and I think I've had mine. I know what is wrong with me.
It's Rowen.
I have been having panic symptoms on my way into the office Wednesday evenings. One full-out panic attack where I thought I might hyperventilate from my heart pounding out of my chest. This doesn't bode well for a psychotherapist. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the near-accident I'd caused months before that snowballed into panic. I had myself convinced that was it until today. Now I am thinking it's something else.
It's Rowen.
On my way out of Fitclub at church this morning (kids in tow-yes they danced around me while I gave a go at Insanity-mostly heaving on the floor), a dear friend caught me and told me I should bring the boys back in a few hours for the kid-fest they were going to have.
Thump, thump, thump.
She told me last time there were about 80 families that came.
Gasp and thump, thump, thump.
I looked at Rowen and thought absolutely not. No way.
But just as I laughed away her suggestion, little Ms. Optimism crept into my psyche and hinted that he did do well while we were at Fitclub. Before I took my little spring-breakers to the class, I had pictured them doing nothing but fighting and me dragging them out kicking and screaming. I was wrong. They actually did well. Rowen was fine. Sigh. Maybe I will give it a shot.
So I brought them back a few hours later to a crowd of over 125.
Thump, thump, thump. What was I thinking? I kept telling Rowen we could leave if it got too crazy, but I think I was saying that more for me than him. How would he react to the crowds? Would he have a meltdown or would he be ok again? Was little Ms. Optimism ruining my otherwise smooth day?
Rowen usually has an uber-focus on something and this time it was the promise of pizza that would come at the end. He did ok until the wait for the pizza was longer than expected. Thump, thump, thump. And then the pizza was too hot to eat. Thump, thump, thump. And then he exploded, muttering some non-church-like obscenities under his breath within ear shot of our sports pastor. Then it happened. It happened. He dropped pizza sauce on his shirt. That was my cue. I gathered up a red faced boy and stacked pizza plates and ran after announcing that the autism monster had gotten a hold of my boy again. I guess it's my only semblance of an explanation. I swear I don't suck as a mother. I swear I don't put "Son of a b----" on his spelling words at home.
Oh well. Thump, thump, thump.
So the last thing I heard from Rowen before leaving for work was a timid little, "Mom, do you love me?"
"Yes, of course, why?"
"Because I am thinking you don't love me."
A battle I fight every day. He's like the Drew Barrymore on 50 First Dates. You have to fight the same things every day. And it truly is a battle. Battles don't come easy. Battles are hard and come with a thump, thump, thump in the chest. And it's never easy to leave him after I've been with him all day. I worry about him. I know God doesn't fancy that so I need to work on it. And I will. I just need a breather. Not from Rowen, but from the thump, thump, thump. At least today was another not-so-subtle hint that homeschooling is our best option for next year. He needs to learn in an atmosphere that doesn't create the thump, thump, thump for him too. He will get us there. He always does.
Maybe Charlie Brown too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8SDztycKwY
