Autism Wins.
It's 7 pm on a school night and I've decided to see how far I can take this potty training thing. So, here goes. I take the diaper off; I put the big boy underwear on; I give him a juice box. Now, we wait. I set a timer for fifteen minutes on my phone. Two rounds and no pee pee. Ten minutes into the third round and he's dry. Excellent. Minute thirteen, I check him and he's gone ALL over the couch. Really? Good grief. I know it's not his fault. I know he can't help it. That day I had failed. So, I put a diaper on him and give him a big kiss, fighting tears. Big, fat, hot tears. Tears of frustration not at my boy but at "Autism." I tuck him into bed and then I let go. Scrubbing the couch and floor and rug and any other surface that I deemed necessary for my wrath with disinfectant and tears. Autism wins. Sometimes, Autism wins. And it's not pretty. It doesn't come in a beautiful package to unwrap. It's raw and ugly. Short fuses, repetition...