Ladybug is sick again. She's lying on the couch having the stomach-bug equivalent of a celebratory party.
"Ooohh!" (Moaning with her eyes closed, but checking our reaction through a tiny slit of eye.) "I'm really, really sick. I need to go to the hospital!"
"You don't have a fever, honey. You're not sick enough to go the hospital."
"I AM sick enough! I won't last the night! Tomorrow you won't have me with you anymore!"
"Would you like some water? And I'll pray for you."
"I won't last the the night, I tell you!"
Daddy prays for her, during which she moans pathetically. Then he announces it's storytime (the usual bedtime routine). Ladybug moans louder.
"I won't last through storytime!"
At August's request, I'm going to Google the symptoms of appendicitis. But we think that involves a fever and pain, not an upset stomach and a dramatic six-year-old.
Showing posts with label Ladybug. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ladybug. Show all posts
Monday, March 3, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The Case of the Quirky Ladybug
The Case of the Quirky Ladybug, newly reopened for investigation, is officially underway now.
Shortly after my earlier post, August contacted a special-needs consultant that he's friends with, while I read up a little on Asperger's. What we found out was intriguing. Well, it's intriguing to us. You're allowed to skip this post if you just can't immerse yourself in the inner workings of someone else's child. ("Doing My Best," who commented on my first post -- you should find this discussion interesting and familiar, as I did your comment.)
This week, I talked with the consultant, Sandra, myself. I positively fell in love with her. She affirmed my concerns about Ladybug, but also let me dismiss some of the quirks as "kid things." She was genuinely interested in helping, and she made me laugh quite a bit. It was a relief to talk with someone who understood what it is like living with a quirky child.
It appears that Ladybug's primary symptoms aren't necessarily Asperger's. They're related more to sensory integration (SI) disorder. (As Sandra said, "All Asperger's children have SI, but not all SI have Asperger's.") I'd read up on SI before, but we revisited it and now can see that Ladybug exhibits the three major qualifications of auditory SI: sensitivity to loud noises, eats primarily carbohydrates, and does not handle transition well.
I was surprised when she asked about Ladybug's diet. "We often call these children 'carbivores,'" Sandra said. What do you know, that's what August and I have called Ladybug for years. It turns out that SI children have too much yeast in their digestive systems, which gives off toxins, affecting their nervous systems. They crave carbs because that's what the yeast thrives on.
Secondly, their carbohydrate diet contains too little fat. Evidently, it's fat that forms a sheath around our nerves, buffering us from noises, shocks, and the world in general. SI children don't have that buffer, so everything hits their system as intense and jarring. Ladybug is actually fortunate that her only problem is auditory sensitivity; other children have trouble with everything from the feel of socks to food textures.
The first steps we've taken are to change what Ladybug eats. This week I've served her meat and vegetables, and considerably fewer carbohydrates. Is this easy for a mother who builds her meals around rice, potatoes, or pasta? (Everybody: Noooo.) She hasn't surfaced from her books long enough to pay attention to the change in diet, so it's going easily on her part. Plus, I sprinkle acidophilus powder on her food (to counteract the yeast). You can imagine how delighted she is to have to take vitamins for her frail constitution. This is Lady "Am I Pale" Bug, after all. Next week we'll add fish oil, which helps the nervous system. Did you know that fish oil comes in flavors now? Did you know that you can get cod liver oil in strawberry? Doesn't that sound like a bad joke?
Sandra remarked (as did the commentor on my first post) that it's astonishing what accomodations you make without thinking about it. One boy, she said, would wears socks as long as his parents cut the toes out of them. "They didn't think much about it. As if it's a perfectly normal thing to cut the toes out of socks." So she asked them if their son had problems with the food touching each other. "Oh, that's not even an issue," the dad replied. "We buy divided plates." We laughed, because a moment before, I'd said, "Ladybug is our least picky eater," and Sandra replied, "Except that she won't eat meat." Right. Except for the exclusion of an entire food group.
It's too soon to tell if these relatively simple steps will make any dramatic changes, but I can't help thinking she's been a little more even-keeled, and less prone to disappear into her room because "everything was too crowded." If she does indeed show improvement, then we can discuss therapy, or explore if SI is the extent of her troubles. As it is, I'm absolutely ecstatic that I've found some way to help her, and that I also understand why she reacts the way she does.
More bulletins as events warrant.
Shortly after my earlier post, August contacted a special-needs consultant that he's friends with, while I read up a little on Asperger's. What we found out was intriguing. Well, it's intriguing to us. You're allowed to skip this post if you just can't immerse yourself in the inner workings of someone else's child. ("Doing My Best," who commented on my first post -- you should find this discussion interesting and familiar, as I did your comment.)
This week, I talked with the consultant, Sandra, myself. I positively fell in love with her. She affirmed my concerns about Ladybug, but also let me dismiss some of the quirks as "kid things." She was genuinely interested in helping, and she made me laugh quite a bit. It was a relief to talk with someone who understood what it is like living with a quirky child.
It appears that Ladybug's primary symptoms aren't necessarily Asperger's. They're related more to sensory integration (SI) disorder. (As Sandra said, "All Asperger's children have SI, but not all SI have Asperger's.") I'd read up on SI before, but we revisited it and now can see that Ladybug exhibits the three major qualifications of auditory SI: sensitivity to loud noises, eats primarily carbohydrates, and does not handle transition well.
I was surprised when she asked about Ladybug's diet. "We often call these children 'carbivores,'" Sandra said. What do you know, that's what August and I have called Ladybug for years. It turns out that SI children have too much yeast in their digestive systems, which gives off toxins, affecting their nervous systems. They crave carbs because that's what the yeast thrives on.
Secondly, their carbohydrate diet contains too little fat. Evidently, it's fat that forms a sheath around our nerves, buffering us from noises, shocks, and the world in general. SI children don't have that buffer, so everything hits their system as intense and jarring. Ladybug is actually fortunate that her only problem is auditory sensitivity; other children have trouble with everything from the feel of socks to food textures.
The first steps we've taken are to change what Ladybug eats. This week I've served her meat and vegetables, and considerably fewer carbohydrates. Is this easy for a mother who builds her meals around rice, potatoes, or pasta? (Everybody: Noooo.) She hasn't surfaced from her books long enough to pay attention to the change in diet, so it's going easily on her part. Plus, I sprinkle acidophilus powder on her food (to counteract the yeast). You can imagine how delighted she is to have to take vitamins for her frail constitution. This is Lady "Am I Pale" Bug, after all. Next week we'll add fish oil, which helps the nervous system. Did you know that fish oil comes in flavors now? Did you know that you can get cod liver oil in strawberry? Doesn't that sound like a bad joke?
Sandra remarked (as did the commentor on my first post) that it's astonishing what accomodations you make without thinking about it. One boy, she said, would wears socks as long as his parents cut the toes out of them. "They didn't think much about it. As if it's a perfectly normal thing to cut the toes out of socks." So she asked them if their son had problems with the food touching each other. "Oh, that's not even an issue," the dad replied. "We buy divided plates." We laughed, because a moment before, I'd said, "Ladybug is our least picky eater," and Sandra replied, "Except that she won't eat meat." Right. Except for the exclusion of an entire food group.
It's too soon to tell if these relatively simple steps will make any dramatic changes, but I can't help thinking she's been a little more even-keeled, and less prone to disappear into her room because "everything was too crowded." If she does indeed show improvement, then we can discuss therapy, or explore if SI is the extent of her troubles. As it is, I'm absolutely ecstatic that I've found some way to help her, and that I also understand why she reacts the way she does.
More bulletins as events warrant.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
You Have No Idea
If you met Ladybug in person, you'd probably think she was charming. She's never very neatly dressed, but she'll curtsey to you as if she's a princess. Her conversation is remarkably articulate and expressive, although often a bit oblique: you're left feeling as if you're almost sure what she was talking about. She displays no shyness or fear of people, and gives out spontaneous hugs. You'd probably turn to me -- her mother -- and say, "What a sociable little girl!"
I'd smile back and say thank-you, and if Ladybug was present I'd say something nice so she could hear it. But you might wonder about the expression in my eyes -- as if I were thinking more than I was saying.
What I'm thinking is, You Have No Idea.
Because Ladybug was my first baby, I didn't know what was typical and what wasn't. She smiled at about six weeks and continued to smile a lot. She ate well. She was agile -- I remember watching her on her back, picking up a glass candleholder with her feet and transferring it to her hands without dropping it. She crawled right on schedule and walked by her first birthday. Any concerns I had, other moms assured me, "Oh, yes, my child does that, too!"
So there were lots of children who burst into hysterical crying when people applauded at church, or when somebody laughed too loud. There were lots of children who smiled but never laughed. There were lots of children who didn't want Mama to sit down and play with them. There were lots of children who didn't speak until age two and a half. The problem was, I never saw any of these other children, and life with my Perfectly Normal child was difficult.
We had Titan a year and a half after Ladybug, and that's when our suspicions were confirmed. Titan would laugh if we scrunched our noses at him. He had words for ball, bird, and bottle. (They were all the same word -- "Ba!" -- but that's not too bad for an 11-month-old.) He insisted on being played with, and loved nothing better than crawling up into August's lap. Even allowing for personality differences, it was obvious that Ladybug didn't process things the same way that Titan did.
As the two got older, they became very good playmates. Ladybug began to talk, and soon was speaking in complete thoughts. Possibly because of Titan's influence, she became less distant, more cuddly. Some things got easier. But she still ignored people, hated loud noises, and went into hysterical meltdowns over unexpected changes. By the time she was three years old, we seriously began reading up on autism.
Our research ruled out autism, and I looked into sensory disorders and Asperger's syndrome. About that time, however, Ladybug turned a corner. She began responding to people, playing with her friends, and handling new situations better. Over the next three years, we still had episodes and challenges, but for the most part she appeared to behave mostly normally. Maybe she outgrew it, we thought. Granted, we had to be careful how we said things to her, keep her from loud or too much activity, and we had to shield her from people -- mostly kids -- who overwhelmed her with attention. But that was second nature: we'd always done that. And she was so much better than she used to be.
Today, however, while was outside with the kids -- on a glorious 65-degree January day, thank you Southern weather -- my good friend said very hesitantly, "I'm concerned about Ladybug."
Her daughter is the same age as Ladybug, and we've been friends since our girls were toddlers. Furthermore, she teaches learning-disabled elementary children. If she had something to say, it was important. Even more reluctantly, she said, "I think... she displays signs of... Asperger's syndrome."
I almost laughed out loud. "Oh, you don't say?"
I'd taken all my concerns and questions, packed them into a box, and stuck it into the back of mind. Now, however, I think we need to revisit the whole issue. Should we have her evaluated and diagnosed? Get her involved in a developmental class? We're homeschoolers, so we're not quick to get our children into The System. But today, being able to talk about my concerns with someone who wouldn't dismiss them, I've realized how tiring it is to work, worry, and fret over Ladybug. Maybe there are ways I can help Ladybug face her challenges and understand her world, without getting frustrated with her.
Ladybug is a pretty little girl who enjoys her books, loves her siblings and friends, and is eager to be grown-up and helpful. Here's to choosing the path that will let her get the most out of her world.
I'd smile back and say thank-you, and if Ladybug was present I'd say something nice so she could hear it. But you might wonder about the expression in my eyes -- as if I were thinking more than I was saying.
What I'm thinking is, You Have No Idea.
Because Ladybug was my first baby, I didn't know what was typical and what wasn't. She smiled at about six weeks and continued to smile a lot. She ate well. She was agile -- I remember watching her on her back, picking up a glass candleholder with her feet and transferring it to her hands without dropping it. She crawled right on schedule and walked by her first birthday. Any concerns I had, other moms assured me, "Oh, yes, my child does that, too!"
So there were lots of children who burst into hysterical crying when people applauded at church, or when somebody laughed too loud. There were lots of children who smiled but never laughed. There were lots of children who didn't want Mama to sit down and play with them. There were lots of children who didn't speak until age two and a half. The problem was, I never saw any of these other children, and life with my Perfectly Normal child was difficult.
We had Titan a year and a half after Ladybug, and that's when our suspicions were confirmed. Titan would laugh if we scrunched our noses at him. He had words for ball, bird, and bottle. (They were all the same word -- "Ba!" -- but that's not too bad for an 11-month-old.) He insisted on being played with, and loved nothing better than crawling up into August's lap. Even allowing for personality differences, it was obvious that Ladybug didn't process things the same way that Titan did.
As the two got older, they became very good playmates. Ladybug began to talk, and soon was speaking in complete thoughts. Possibly because of Titan's influence, she became less distant, more cuddly. Some things got easier. But she still ignored people, hated loud noises, and went into hysterical meltdowns over unexpected changes. By the time she was three years old, we seriously began reading up on autism.
Our research ruled out autism, and I looked into sensory disorders and Asperger's syndrome. About that time, however, Ladybug turned a corner. She began responding to people, playing with her friends, and handling new situations better. Over the next three years, we still had episodes and challenges, but for the most part she appeared to behave mostly normally. Maybe she outgrew it, we thought. Granted, we had to be careful how we said things to her, keep her from loud or too much activity, and we had to shield her from people -- mostly kids -- who overwhelmed her with attention. But that was second nature: we'd always done that. And she was so much better than she used to be.
Today, however, while was outside with the kids -- on a glorious 65-degree January day, thank you Southern weather -- my good friend said very hesitantly, "I'm concerned about Ladybug."
Her daughter is the same age as Ladybug, and we've been friends since our girls were toddlers. Furthermore, she teaches learning-disabled elementary children. If she had something to say, it was important. Even more reluctantly, she said, "I think... she displays signs of... Asperger's syndrome."
I almost laughed out loud. "Oh, you don't say?"
I'd taken all my concerns and questions, packed them into a box, and stuck it into the back of mind. Now, however, I think we need to revisit the whole issue. Should we have her evaluated and diagnosed? Get her involved in a developmental class? We're homeschoolers, so we're not quick to get our children into The System. But today, being able to talk about my concerns with someone who wouldn't dismiss them, I've realized how tiring it is to work, worry, and fret over Ladybug. Maybe there are ways I can help Ladybug face her challenges and understand her world, without getting frustrated with her.
Ladybug is a pretty little girl who enjoys her books, loves her siblings and friends, and is eager to be grown-up and helpful. Here's to choosing the path that will let her get the most out of her world.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy? New Year
It's January First. This fact was commemorated very characteristically by my two older children this morning.
My firstborn, who will be known as Ladybug, is six years old and takes a very serious view of life. If there aren't any dark, looming portents of doom readily available, she makes them up.
My second-born, who will be known as Titan (as in mythology, not as in a football movie), is a happy-go-lucky five-year-old whose greatest concern in life is that he won't get his full 30-minute allotment of computer time.
This morning, Titan noticed the date on the computer. "Is it JANUARY?" he exclaimed in wonder, as if this were the best surprise since Christmas.
Ladybug looked over his shoulder. "Oh, no!" she groaned tragically. "It's JANUARY!"
So, from Mairzy's house, Happy New Year! Or, if you prefer, Horrors! It's a New Year!
My firstborn, who will be known as Ladybug, is six years old and takes a very serious view of life. If there aren't any dark, looming portents of doom readily available, she makes them up.
My second-born, who will be known as Titan (as in mythology, not as in a football movie), is a happy-go-lucky five-year-old whose greatest concern in life is that he won't get his full 30-minute allotment of computer time.
This morning, Titan noticed the date on the computer. "Is it JANUARY?" he exclaimed in wonder, as if this were the best surprise since Christmas.
Ladybug looked over his shoulder. "Oh, no!" she groaned tragically. "It's JANUARY!"
So, from Mairzy's house, Happy New Year! Or, if you prefer, Horrors! It's a New Year!
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