Mostly, I feel very, very lucky that Max is who he is. Given the terrifying stuff we heard when he was born about the risks he faced. Given the fact that he is bright, determined and very adorable. And he has good hair.
Sometimes, though, he drives me slightly insane, not something I readily admit. It's one thing to laughingly gripe about Sabrina, a typically developing four-year-old with an underdeveloped sense of obedience and an overinflated sense of entitlement to anything with a Disney princess on it. It's another thing to laughingly gripe about Max, a six-year-old with cerebral palsy and lots and lots of special needs. And so, I hardly ever go there.
But you know what? Max is, in ways, just like any other kid. I can't spend life feeling like I have to treat him differently or coddle him. Like Sabrina, some of the stuff he does is crazymaking. And so, without further ado, I hereby reveal: Lately he is making me a tiny bit nutso, and it's all because of chocolate ice-cream and a condo we visit at the beach near us.
Max loves this condo. No, make that, he's obsessed with it. And when he's obsessed with something, he brings it up approximately every three minutes. "EEAASH OUSE!" he says. The speech therapist had no clue what he was talking about this weekend, but I knew: "BEACH HOUSE!" We were going there on Saturday and Sunday. And he ate chocolate ice-cream in the beach house, and you know how loony tunes he is for chocolate ice-cream.
Which brings me to bedtime for the last few nights. I tuck Max in and turn off the lights. "EEEASH OUSE!" he says. "Yes, I know, you want to go back to the beach house," I say. "EYE HEEAM! EYE HEEAM!" Max insists. "Max wants chocolate ice-cream!" I acknowledge. "EYE HEEAM EEEASH OUSE!" he says, gleeful. "Max wants chocolate ice-cream at the beach house!" I say. "YESSSSSSSSS!" Max responds.
Now, it is miraculous to be having this chat with Max, a kid who was never supposed to talk at all. But the conversation loses some of its charm by the fifth time we go back and forth. By the TWELFTH time, I am walking backwards out the door chanting, "YOU'LL HAVE CHOCOLATE ICE-CREAM AT THE BEACH HOUSE! YOU'LL HAVE CHOCOLATE ICE-CREAM AT THE BEACH HOUSE! YOU'LL HAVE CHOCOLATE ICE-CREAM AT THE BEACH HOUSE!" and making a fast break for the living room.
Cut to morning. Repeat that scene all over again, only this time I am backing out the door to run for the train as I chant, "YOU'LL HAVE CHOCOLATE ICE-CREAM AT THE BEACH HOUSE! YOU'LL HAVE CHOCOLATE ICE-CREAM AT THE BEACH HOUSE!"
What drives you a wee bit nuts about your kids? Just a wee bit?
