For a week now my Dad and I have been planning a trip for my kids to the Zoo. For a week now I have convinced myself that everything will go well, Emily will like it, and I will maintain a calmness no matter what. As I pack for the trip, Emily wants to pack her own bag - her blankie, 2 Rockets (Little Einsteins), 4 Nemos, Dory, Jesse from Toy Story, a bag of popcorn, a peanut butter sandwich, and her sippee. I am positive as we load up the car and she is beaming with a smile that makes angels look ugly. She does love the car. The ride, the scenery - all very soothing to her.
Once we get to the zoo, my gut starts to turn. Please God, I need calm. I need strength. Emily sits in her wagon and we are off....maybe this will work. We get to the first animals - the otters. Emily is estactic as she watches them glide through the water and squeals and laughs and dances along with them. I smile and laugh so hard I feel my face hurting. This is great, I tell myself, look how happy she is! .......and then it's time to move on. This option of moving on is not acceptable to Emily whatsoever. She shrieks and flails and hits me, then turns to the glass and bangs on it over and over. I tell my Dad to take the boys and we will catch up - no big deal. I try to remind myself that it is the journey, not the destination - so if she wants to watch the otters for a while longer, so be it.
20 min past...30 min...40 min. Ok, time to move on. Each time I suggest "All Done", a meltdown occurs. Each time, a set of new people stare and kids whisper to each other. Each time, a mom looks at me like I am mean. I reason with myself if she could just SEE that there are other animals to look at, maybe she could shift her focus. So, I carry her, kicking and screaming, wagon in tow, over to the monkeys. I try to make her see the monkeys, try to get her to calm down. I feel her body getting sweaty and hot, her heart racing as she pounds her fists into my body and shrieks at the top of her lungs. She tries to throw herself on the sidewalk, and I grab her arm to prevent her from smashing her head against the cement. Please God, calm me down - I need to be calm. I somehow notice that the monkeys don't particularily care for this other mammal that can out shriek them, and they all join in to drown out her voice - but she is louder. I feel what seems like a thousand eyes boring into my body - judging me, judging Emily. Stares. Whispers. Parents shuffling their kids away from our direction. I give in.....back to the otters.
Emily's entire 2 hour trip was spent by the otter tank. I might add that after the first hour, they got tired and went to a corner to nap, so Emily watched an empty tank of water.
Dad brought the boys back and it was time to leave. I know this dance. I know it by heart. No amount of bribes, countdowns, pleading, begging, or commanding will help in this situation. Dad takes the boys and the wagon out to the car, and I follow with Emily. I have her in a straightjacket kind of hold so she wont bite or hit me, but the heels of her shoes pound into my shins and they go about as fast as my heart. POUND POUND POUND POUND. God, please let my muscles hold out, I can't put her down, I can't stop. Just let me get to the car. More stares, more whispers.....I can't take this - hurry hurry hurry. Emily pulls what I call the "dead man" and lets her body go stick straight yet limp, slips from my grasp and bolts across the parking lot. Even in moments like this, I am continously awed and amazed by her speed. I grab her and get her back to the car. It takes almost another 15 min to calm her down enough to get her in her seat and buckled in. She throws things, hits, kicks and lunges at me. I think of my boys, and what they have to put up with. "I'm so sorry" I say to them inside my head, thinking how many times they wish Emily wasn't like this. My Dad tries to help, tries to copy what I am doing, but a few times slips into discipling her like a neurotypical, and I feel hot sticky tears roll down my face as I snap at a man that I have such love and admiration for. "THAT DOESN"T WORK DAD!! JUST STOP!"
Finally, we exit the parking lot, and my Dad pats me on the knee. I lose it inside. But I try to keep it together for my boys. They hate it when I cry, hate it when I lose my cool, hate it when I look and sound broken. What I really want to do is crawl into my Daddy's arms and sob and sob until I am spent. THIS ISN'T FAIR! THIS SO REALLY SUCKS!!! All I wanted was to take my kids to the zoo.
As my Dad drops us off and everyone is back inside. Emily immediately sheds all her clothes, like she is erasing the entire day, turns on Madagasgar, and crawls under a blanket. My Dad hugs me, tells me I am amazing and that he loves me. Tells me that I am strong, stronger than him because he admits he would've never been able to handle what I had to go through today. I will carry that in my heart forever.
It is not until my Dad is gone, the bags are unpacked, and the kids are settled that I get a chance to sit down. And when I do, I begin to weep - hard, but silent, because I refuse to let my kids hear.
Autism - you win today. You beat me up and beat me up good. But mark my word, I will learn from this and come back stronger and kick your ass. That's a promise.
