While talking with a friend, D, who knows someone with a autistic teen aged daughter, the topic of puberty came up. She was explaining to me how the girl's main caretaker was her father. I thought for a few minutes, and then it hit me like a punch in stomach.
"D, what did they do when she got her period?"
"Well, the father had to learn how to put tampons in. He still does it for her."
Dear God.
Our main unmentionable topic at this point is poop. Luckily (?) it's generally a very funny word in our house. The song Shipoopi came on our Pandora radio the other day, and I thought Oliver would never stop laughing. I try to keep the "poopy" and "peepee" to the bathroom only, but occasionally O and V will get in some deep conversation about it, and I simply can't stop the interaction; it is, after all, the talk of a typical 4-year-old, so I should encourage it, right?
However, V is still having trouble going poop on the potty. I'm pretty good at watching her, and if I time it right, picking up from her signals, she'll go on the toilet and it's awesome! However, I'm the only one. Ben, Grammy, therapists and camp counselors cannot tell. So, she has accidents.
I'm a far from squeamish mommy, but...someone else's kid? Rough. Can you imagine changing someone else's child's poop-filled pull-up? Or worse, underwear? I could lovingly help my niece and nephew, maybe close friends' kids, but other than that.....?
It happened this morning. I knew it would, during therapy. I had the pull-up on V, but it was one of her newer therapists, and I know it annoys her. I catch the look on her face and hear the slight aggravation in her voice. I clean my girl so well afterwards, changing her whole outfit, even though it is still clean. I scrub her hands and face, because I don't want this 'accident' to affect the rest of her session at all. I don't want the therapist to be irritated, or, more horrifying, grossed out by my sweet girl.
My feelings were compounded with a conversation yesterday with one of Violet's camp counselors. It was the last day, so I was talking with everyone a bit as we said good-bye. It's a special program run by the Kinney Center, headed by trained college students, who are all majoring in Special Ed or Psychology. It's been an amazing five weeks there. Anyhow, while speaking with M, a college senior, she brought up how one of the little 3-year-old boys with autism had cried every day for the first week. She told me how they were told not to comfort him when he was crying (perhaps a sensory thing?), but one day she felt so bad, she picked him up. He immediately got so frightened, he wet his pants.
Heart-breaking. But what really struck me was how troubled she was that he had urinated on her. She told me she was totally freaked out and upset by it, and had gone to the head counselors to say she couldn't continue.
REALLY? I'm not even sure I'd notice pee on me at this point- seriously. But then, again, it's my child. It's me.
Is it possible to find someone to help your child that doesn't care about the unmentionables? Is it possible that there are people like that?
Who even knows. In the meantime, I'll keep scrubbing my sweet girl.
{and for photos completely unrelated to the above post, see below. how can two parents get so lucky?}
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