Why I Have Gray Hairs at 34

This is Avery, my little monster, cleverly disguised as a 22 month old.  My miracle, my pride and joy, my child who isn't supposed to be.  He's also the reason I doubt my parenting abilities more than ever, and I'm quite certain, the reason for most of, if not all of, my gray hairs.  He is stubborn, strong-willed, independent and opinionated (gee, I wonder where he gets THAT from...).  I love him dearly and wouldn't trade him for anything or anyone.  I am so grateful to have him in our lives.  Along with the challenges, he brings me great joy and a lot of laughter.

Raising Avery has been different than raising Noah from the very beginning.  Where Noah was colicky and "difficult" as an infant (that sounds horrible, doesn't it?  I'm certain it had to do with the parents as much as with the child), Avery has always been happy-go-lucky and smiley.  Avery has always just gone with the flow and has easily entertained himself.  As a parent, the differences between my boys are very interesting.  When Noah was younger, time out was the ultimate discipline tool.  Noah would tell me when he was even thinking of doing something wrong, then ask if he should go sit in time out.  With Avery, it quickly became apparent that time out was not going to work (even though we still try it).  Time out became a game to him.  He would purposely do something naughty, then go sit in the time out chair.  No, I'm not kidding.  The first time I spanked him, he literally turned the other (butt) cheek to me as if to say, "Yeah, so?  Your point is---?"  Again, I'm not kidding.

During one temper tantrum, out of all the books in our bookcase that Avery could have chosen, he threw Dr. James Dobson's "The Strong Willed Child" at us.  Yes, we've read it cover-to-cover and even highlighted a few portions of it.  We're pretty certain that even though it was written many years ago, it was written specifically about Avery.  Do you think it's possible Dr. Dobson can see into the future?

The other night, while Avery played with his little workshop table, he put his little stuffed bear under the battery  operated drill press and drilled his bear.  "Avery!  NO!  That's mean!  We don't drill our bears!  That hurts him!  You need to hug him and tell him you're sorry," I told him.  He picked up his little bear, hugged him close and said, "I sowwy bwear, I wuv you."  As I walked out of his room, satisfied that my job was done, Avery laughed mischievously, jammed his bear back under the drill press and proceeded to drill his bear again.  I emailed my mom that night and asked her how I'm going to raise this one.  Her response?  Very carefully, and with one eye open at all times.

I love watching Avery's personality develop.  Avery loves the nursery at church, preferring one of the caretakers in particular over all the others (No offense to the rest! They are all wonderful and I think it's terrific that we even have some dads in there!).  He knows he "belongs" in the nursery, taking our hands and walking us back to the nursery whenever we go to church, even if it's not a Sunday.  He loves his daycare playtime away from Mommy when I go to work on Thursdays and he loves his playgroups.  He loves to sing into the microphone at home; his favorite tv shows are Blues Clues and Fresh Beat Band.  He loves anything to do with music and dancing and is frequently caught trying to carry the kitties around the house (usually when I hear the kitties crying for help!).  I love the way he carries his blankie and his llama with him everywhere he goes, how he sleeps with his butt in the air, how he yells, "AMEN!" at the end of his prayers and grace, the way he reaches up for my hand when we walk together, instinctively knowing Mommy is right there.  I love the way he bats his little baby blues when he knows he's done something naughty, how he announces, "Ta-DA!" to everything he does, how he puts his little finger to his nose and says, "I'm cute!"  I love his sloppy little kisses and his great big hugs.  He's also a great after-nap snuggler.

I have watched this little boy like a hawk from the moment that first test told me I was pregnant (word from the wise: if you live in a small town and haven't told your friends you have been trying to get pregnant, don't go to the small town drugstore for the tests.  Make the drive to the next STATE for them.  I didn't make the drive and ran into most of my friends in the store.  Those I didn't run into were on my answering machine when I got home, eagerly awaiting the results.  And don't try hiding the tests behind your back; that doesn't work, either!  I should have saved myself the trouble and taken out a newspaper ad.).  Between my issues and Noah's differences, I have taken stock of Avery's development every step of the way.  We had a few scary moments during my pregnancy, then he decided to arrive a little earlier than scheduled after a very frightening and difficult delivery, during which our doctor, the nurses, Shawn and I were afraid we were going to lose him, and finally, he was readmitted to the hospital as a newborn for jaundice.  We overcame a low APGAR and some breastfeeding struggles so quickly that people (i. e., complete strangers) began to wonder what I was feeding my baby.  I literally have a checklist in my head, "Okay, he's doing that and Noah didn't.  Noah did that and Avery isn't."  I know it isn't fair to compare children, but as a mother of a child with special needs, I frequently find myself doing so.  So far, I see many differences between him and Noah, so ASD is the last thing that concerns me, but I do worry about sensory issues because of what I know about them (knowledge is power, but sometimes too much knowledge can be a bad thing).  Avery is an INTENSE child.  I call him my little thrill seeker, my "faster-higher-scarier-zigzaggier" child.  I tell myself these are only observations, to file them away.  He's just a toddler exploring his world, I tell myself.  I don't want to second-guess myself a second time, but I also don't want to pin unnecessary worries on a child if there is no reason for them.

As I watched him playing outside with the three older boys (mine and my friend's) the other night, clad only in a t shirt, diaper, his dress shoes and his plaid golf hat (he dressed himself, can you tell?!), I realized just how different life would be without him, and not in a good way.  A piece of my heart would be missing. We are so blessed by this sweet little terror, even if my entire head is gray by 35.