Originally posted here
If I don't blog, I'm going to cry. Seriously.
After yesterday's half-hour meltdown, I was really hoping it was just something out of the blue. Now, I'm not so sure and that terrifies me because I don't know what to do or where to go from here. This morning, Bobby seemed fine. While Peter showered, I talked to he and Maya with the words for the social story I'm working on about the school year ending and their going to summer camp 3 mornings a week. No issues. Breakfast was fine, leaving the house and school drop off was fine. Then I get a text from his PCA, telling me that Bobby was having a bit of a struggle. We write off some of the behavior to a growth spurt (he's eating like nuts, lengthening out and not really gaining weight, and I've had to toss some of his clothes because he's grown out of them, so this is possible.). I get to the pick-up line and it's time for the kids to come out. The door opens and I'm waiting... and screaming... and wailing... and what is going on?
Poor Miss M is carrying Bobby and he's freaking out. Screaming, trying to smack her, pulling her hair. She's a trooper because she's just carrying him and trying to soothe him. I get to them and she's worried he'll kick my belly or hurt me and even offers to carry him to the car. I take him, thinking I can help him. Mistake. He's more angry and upset. Screaming, hitting, carrying on. It's actually quite terrifying because I have no idea what happened- and neither do they. He was fine until the goodbye song ended and then, BOOM! The class aide helped Maya to the car, the PreK teacher had to hold the door open, and their teacher carried Bobby. I finally get him in the car, trying to talk to him, and he's begging for his teacher, his PCA, and school, over and over again. He keeps telling me to leave, that he doesn't want me there, and that he wants to stay at school. (As his teacher said, this is huge considering he didn't want to be left at school in September.) It starts to make sense that the social story is setting in and he's realizing that school is going to be over soon; he just doesn't realize that it isn't over today. That part isn't sinking in, and he's not happy about it. (His teacher thinks we just have to keep going with the story, several times a day, since he needs the time to adjust. She's right but man, this is going to suck.)
He cries, screams, kicks my chair, hits himself- you name it- the entire way home, until I turn. At this point, I think he believes I'm going to take him back to school because he calms down and keeps repeating his teacher's name, his aide's name, and school. But he's calm. Until we turn and go towards our street. Again, freak out. He's freaking out so much that, by the time we get in the garage, poor Maya is so upset she doesn't know what to do. By the time I finally get him inside, she's crying that she's scared and then, by accident because he's just flailing and she's trying to get close to him, he kicks her in the arm (I'm holding him) so now she's really crying.
I have to put him in the living room floor, where he's banging his head, kicking, etc, so I can check on her (and the living room is carpeted, so I figure it's better than the other floors). I finally get her calmed enough to go back to him, where he's freaking out still. He delivers two good kicks to me, and I start contracting. Not good. But there's nothing else I can do. I cant let him hurt himself and at the same time, the only way I can try to do that is by holding onto him. That eventually seems to work, I turn on his favorite cartoon, and start lunch. That buys me maybe 5 minutes.
Then rinse and repeat. Screaming, crying, he wants school, etc. He's trying to scratch off his own face (no kidding), hurling himself against walls and against me. I'm trying to hold him and he alternates between wanting that and hugging me tightly and then trying to fight me. It's a waking nightmare. He looks at me and sees me and is begging for help and then he looks at me and it's blank and like something else has taken over his little body. I eventually get lunch on the table by 1 o'clock and, finally, get him to sit... and he eats... and is calm. Thank God. Washing his hands, potty time, etc, is a full blown nightmare again, but then he gets into my arms and is ready for nap. Which is where he is now, for the last half hour.
Part of me feels so bad for the teachers; they are such a gift, but seriously, no teacher (no matter how awesome) deserves to have her 3 year old student slap at her and pull her hair. She's great because she understands there is no malicious intent and that he's upset and trying to communicate, but still... And those parents in the pick up line. What they must think of Bobby... what they must think of me, as this kid is slapping my face and pulling my hair and fighting me like a banshee gone wild... It was in full view of the first half dozen cars and I'm sure whoever didn't see, heard the screaming and wondered what was going down.
But Oh My God. And I mean that in a prayerful sense. What the hell is going on? I feel better because I think, after talking to his teacher, that it is the social story that is setting him off and that he's upset about the school year ending, but this is insane. I thought his 2 year old battles were rough- he's 10 times stronger now and I'm pregnant. I can physically not handle trying to hold him down and stop him from hurting himself. And my heart is just breaking. I know he's upset and I cant help him. It is awful.
Tonight, Peter has the end of a conference and wont be home until bedtime. I had planned to take the kids out to their favorite climbing area, then for pizza and minigolf and ice cream.... And now I'm absolutely terrified to take him anywhere because what if he has another meltdown? What if I cant handle him, and we're out?
I just want to cry. I wish there was some way I could help him.