Crying Over Spilled Lemonade

A few evenings ago, if you happened to meander in a forgotten corner of our local botanic gardens as you were listening to a very cool concert fill the entire space, the mom you saw sobbing as she crouched down near two little boys in their stroller would have been me.

Little Bug's behavioral needs are changing or maturing or increasing or whatever the official term for it would be, but the reality is things are becoming harder for him to control while his life becomes increasingly in need of self-control.  As we try to expand his world and life responsibilities little by little, the blunt truth is that for a reason we might never get our hands fully around, he's just not capable of helping himself right now in the ways that he needs to at times.  The baseline he needs to exercise and understand self-control isn't there for him in some instances, and these missing instances often encompass critical education and social skills.

He CAN learn, he CAN control, he CAN do damn near anything he wants to.

But not right now because we haven't figured out how to get him to that baseline he needs.  And that is scary and frustrating and sad and is forcing us to go places we had hoped not to go.  But he needs to be able to eat a treasured and earned reward doughnut in his car seat instead of impulsively throwing it over and over on the floor, only to sob that it was on the floor.  He needs to be able to stand still for longer than 5 seconds to look at a color in his hand and match it to the color on the wall or sit for longer than 30 seconds at "circle time" at school or hold back from knocking down a friend's block tower any time he passes by, only to cry right along with his friend. He needs to be able to stand next to me in a parking lot or store without having his hand is a vice grip to stop him from dashing off with wild and often dangerous or unintentionally destructive abandon. He is almost 4; the time when others will start holding his accountable is coming soon.

And when we are enjoying a lovely evening in a forgotten corner of the botanic gardens while listening to a concert of bells and I buy him as a very special treat his very own bottled lemonade, he needs to be able to take a sip before reflexively throwing it like a water bomb all over myself and the ground.  Because he doesn't WANT to do any of those things, but simply can't help himself right now.

So we will help him.  Somehow.  Any way we can.  Even if it is a way that we didn't really want to help him.  Even if it means sacrificing other things that are deeply important to us.

I am scared for my baby.  I am scared that we won't be able to do enough for him and that we won't be able to help him reach the baseline he needs in order to start reaching his higher potential and enjoying life a little more stably.  Lately a heavy weight has settled on my heart as the path is becoming more and more clear and unfun for all of us. 

And it all came rushing to the surface a few evenings ago as I stood there in shock, soaked in what was meant to be a special treat for my special boy.  No reason to punish him....he knew what he did was wrong and seemed equally shocked at what had happened.  Instead I just bent down and sobbed over that spilled lemonade and the rough road ahead my little love must continue to tread.

And now that it is out of my system, we move on.