Altricial

C and I had the vulnerability and exposure of a pair of slugs after the rain this morning.

On Monday C stayed home sick with a cold, our first of the new school year. Yesterday he was reluctant to return to school but he made it. Today was a tougher process. We got into the car, buckled, and made it to the library parking lot. And then he refused to exit the vehicle.

I had a moment last night where I thought, Well, it's been a good run, but perhaps I used up a lifetime's supply of patience in 9 years of parenting. What if I'm all out? Sorry, that's the ballgame, kids. At least you got more postnatal care than a precocial zebra foal. That's my new vocabulary word for the day, "precocial." It describes a species of mammal or bird that hits the ground running after birth, so to speak. The opposite, altricial species, need a lot of nurturing from parents after birth to fully develop. My kids may be precocious but they sure as shit aren't precocial.

To return to my story, we made it into the school building about an hour and ten minutes after we arrived at the parking lot. The process entailed: a dilapidated, collapsible black laundry basket over C's head, seized from the trunk to hide his tears and embarrassment; locking himself in the car; throwing his car seat; lots of heartbreaking screaming and crying; peeing in the bushes next to the parking lot with said laundry basket over his head; a phone call into the school for help; a very small amount of tears and a lot of resignation from yours truly, with a bit of yelling when C hit me; three Special Ed team members who came, conversed, and were unsuccessful in convincing him to come inside; an email from the social worker; climbing on top of the car; rescuing six slugs on the pathway to the school; and grabbing the Zelda book from his aide and reading it under his laundry basket once we got inside, at which point I high-tailed it out of there and escaped to Target to buy a mocha.

A lot? Maybe. But I'm realizing more and more that it is doesn't matter a hoot whether C is more or less neurodiverse than any other kid. Every kid and every parent struggles. Our story at a human level is no different than anyone else's. And the more oxygen I give our story, the less isolated I feel. Just like with my eating disorder. It's fucking hard, but it's all worth it when you get a voluntary snuggle even if that snuggle doesn't come as often as you'd like. And, I have to keep reminding myself: C did not bite, he did not run away, he rode to school safely without unbuckling himself, he walked into the school building voluntarily, he was receptive to a book as a distraction, he did his medicine, he did not self-harm other than some half-hearted hitting, and he transitioned back to school after a cold and after a weekend of extremes.

Like C, I've been having big feelings lately, and I'm not quite sure what they mean or what to do with them. And they scare me, but their intensity also reminds me I'm alive. And, while my friend reminded me that emotions aren't problems to solve (thank you, friend, and There's No Coming Back from This by Ann Garvin), what about next steps and my plan of action? How do I figure out what I need and what my family needs? Like, a mocha and lots of flowers and bugs obviously, but what else? How do I balance Ali Wong -- "I don't just want equal pay, I want equal pleasure" (https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/ali-wong-don-wong-transcript/), with Gabriel Oak's admonishment to Bathsheba Everdeen to "Do what is right?"(Far from the Madding Crowd)? Again, hell if I know.

Let me try, though.

I need: sleep, healthy food, physical exercise outside, and the nourishment of friendship, family, art, literature, and music.

I want, metaphysically: to feel part of a greater community where I contribute something worthwhile; passion and desire; to feel supported; to have tangible and intangible goals.

I want, practically: to not feel like I'm the one holding it all together; to have someone, consistently and without prompting, keep the counter clean, the bathrooms clean, the laundry put away and the dishes done, to have a a positive attitude about life, a similar work ethic, a sensitivity untainted by defensiveness. I don't want to feel like a mother all the time. I don't want "trying" I want "doing." Responsibility and ownership and action are desirable traits, in more ways than one.

And I want to go waltzing in a fancy dress.

I'm gonna manifest this shit.