The Prince of Darkness

Now, Child number 2, or as we like to call him, The Prince of Darkness (pod).  This small 8 year old is a bundle of terror.  Pod has a lot of sensory issues (sound, taste, texture, touch, smell, and occasionally will cry when he hears sad music).  It's nearly impossible to feed him (he survives on Nutella on toast), dress him, bath him, cut his nails (which are looooong), brush his teeth, and so on.  His major issue is control.  He loves to control, to manipulate, and to cause outbursts.  This is a manifestation of his anxieties.  He feels better when he feels in control.  It makes life hell.  As far as school goes, well, thank heavens for his assistant.  This lovely woman has a lot on her plate.  She spends all day trying to get him to do stuff, and he tries to weasel out of it. She deserves a medal.

Pod was diagnosed with autism/asperger's when he was 4.  I was quite surprised when it came up as a concern since he was doing so much better than his brother in most aspects.  He certainly communicated a lot better.  I did worry that he was obsessive/compulsive maybe.  At that point, he still work zip-up jammies nearly 24/7.  He would literally change in the car after school.  And he always color coordinated his pacifiers with his clothes (he had a pacifier until he was 7).  Pod was always a strong-willed child.  From day one.  He didn't like being breastfed, but was over the moon when we gave him a bottle.  He wouldn't let me spoon feed him, and went straight to finger foods.  You couldn't cuddle him, but he'd come and cuddle in himself.  It all had to be under his control.  Rigidity was the word they used when it came time for assessment, and it made sense then.  He also had a lot of toileting issues.  Poopy pants, all the time, and not a care in the world about it.

So, we had a young fellow who wouldn't eat (much), wore jammies all the time, used a pacifier all the time, was poopy, and generally looking for a way to escape the house.  I once caught him 6 feet up the wire fence out back, completely naked.  With a pacifier.  He has no fear, no common sense.  We lock all the doors and windows.  Always.  And he had to control everything, or at least think he did.  He often couldn't sleep until he felt he'd manipulated me in some way.  Even if it was just to get me to close and then open the door.

Last winter we had a real scare.  We thought Pod had a stomach bug, but just wasn't getting better.  Turns out he had a bowel obstruction.  So, emergency surgery and a week in hospital.  Now, we have to constantly fill him up with stool softeners, and occasionally give him stimulants laxatives.  When all else fails, an enema.  I have to be obsessed with how often he's pooping.  At least the poopy pants have stopped.  He's happy to go as long as it's easy.

Young Pod, with his will of steel, is in school, happily chasing girls, and boys that he thinks are funny.  He refuses to go outside (too cold), play gym (too loud), and tries as hard as he can to get out of writing.  He's super smart (especially when it comes to working people).   He loves pushing his older brother Buddy into a total meltdown.  You'd think a tiny guy like PoD would get tired of being punched by a monster like his big brother, but there you go.  It's too much fun to get the reaction.  He does the same to me (except I don't punch him, of course).  He drives me to drink, not to violence.  But he loves pissing me off.  Once he made me cry, than he laughed at me and called me a crybaby.  Really.  My son.  He screams, he yells, he asks for things he doesn't want, just to make me get something for him.

I know I need to put a strict visual schedule into place, and make up some reward charts.  He needs a firm framework for his day to make him feel more secure.  I'm working on it, I'm working on it.  You try and make satan comply.