Could someone please remind me of the reasons I’m happy that spring has arrived? Honestly, right now I can’t think of any.

Gads.

Just when I think my kid is doing better and his SPD is a minor thing compared to his OCD, I’m proven wrong. In epic proportions.

Fecking feck.

We went to a mall this morning. I opened the sunroof on the car. For 5 seconds. Then Little Man screamed his fecking brains out and said it was too windy! Too loud! Too cold! Too sunny! So I closed the sunroof. SO he yelled that music was too quiet! The car was too hot! Too this! Too that!

Fecking feck.

When we got to the mall, he reminded me that I don’t take him to malls. Unless I’m in the mood to be tortured. Repeatedly. We really need to work on Little Man’s low muscle tone. The more we get outside and go walking, the more I’m reminded that he still needs a lot of work in this area. Reminded by his whining and crying that he “can’t walk another millimetre.” Yes, he said “millimetre.”

So I tortured my kid by making him walk a little longer around the mall and then I decided to torture him with some mall food court overstimulation. Whheeeeee!!!

Little Man likes cheese pizza from one particular food chain that is usually in malls in our area. I can always count on him eating it. Yes, he picks the green bits out of  the sauce. Yes, he avoids the lumps in the sauce. No, he won’t go near the bits where the cheese has bubbles. But. But! At least he eats some of it.

Well, you know, assuming that the sun and the stars and the cracks on the floor tiles are all lined up according to Little Man’s idea of the universe.

You guessed it! They weren’t. Lined up. At all.

There were a gazillion smells that he didn’t like. There was a crumb on his napkin. There were noisy babies and rowdy teens. He ate three bites and said he was full. Well feckity feck.

I got all irritated and bitchy and we left. Fun trip to the mall, no? You’re so fecking jealous right now.

So we came home. Then it was time for a walk to the park, as I had promised this morning. I was reminded that trips to the park are not fun. They are torture. Plain and simple.

There are DOGS! on the way to the park. Lots of DOGS!. On leashes, perfectly tame and orderly, but DOGS! nonetheless. For the love of HeyZeus. Fecking DOGS! Every time we come within 100 metres of a DOG!, Little Man throws himself a little shit fit. Dances around, steps on my toes while trying to climb my torso, cries in anticipation of any attention that a DOG! might pay him.

I so fecking need Hubs to deal with this DOG! bullshit. Yesterday would be good. I have no patience for it. Yeah, yeah, there’s a voice in my head that tells me he can’t help it and his fear is real but really? It’s so fecking old. And I’m so fecking done with it. I think we’re renting a bubble and Little Man will live in it until I die. After that maybe he can join the circus and do bubble tricks.

Know what else happened when we finally got to the park? Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s huge. Take a deep breath. Prepare yourself…

There were OTHER KIDS! at the park. Not only were there OTHER KIDS! at the fecking park, but they were running! And playing! And squealing! And coming within 10 feet of Little Man! I almost called the cops for crying out loud!

Oh, and don’t forget the little rocks that got inside his shoes!

Or the sun that was shining and bothering his eyes!

Gads, people. Seriously? Why am I happy about spring’s arrival? It’s just reminder after reminder that my kid is on the wrong side of the Normal line in the sand.

Pardon me, I have to leave you now. My Epic Proportions Freak the Feck Out Child has lost the BandAid that was covering his invisible owie.

What’s that you said? You’ve got a few dozen  extra Xannies in your medecine cabinet? I’m on my way!

Kia