Lost in Translation

We all know what it is like to be upset, moody, or simply not ourselves, yet have no idea why.

As young children, those feelings often show up as tantrums. As we get older, they become yelling, stomping around the house, slamming doors, or giving everyone the silent treatment. Different ages, same frustration.

But what happens when a child grows older and cannot tell you what is wrong?

I know I have written about this before, but it remains one of the hardest parts of parenting Noah.

Sometimes I feel like I am a translator.

When you spend enough time with someone, whether it is your child, spouse, friend, or another family member, you begin to understand how they think. You learn their patterns. You can often figure out what they are trying to say, or even what is bothering them before they can explain it.

For example, we have three teenage girls. As the only other female in the house, I can usually tell when PMS is making an appearance. Part of my job becomes translating that information to my husband so he knows today is probably not the day to ask why there are seventeen cups in somebody's bedroom.

But what if I cannot translate?

What if I have absolutely no idea what is bothering the other person? Even worse, what if they do not know either? They cannot explain it. They just know something feels wrong, and all that comes out is anger, frustration, and demands.

Sometimes those demands are harmless. A raised voice. Storming off. Refusing to talk.

Yesterday started that way.

We were having dinner at my parents' house when Noah became upset. We still have no idea why. That may be the hardest part. As parents, we want to fix things. We want to make it better. But how do you fix something when neither of you knows what is wrong?

He started spitting. He spit at his grandmother and told her to "shut up." That was when Shane and I stepped in.

Things escalated.

If you watch the Reel on Facebook, you can hear him yelling, "Give me car now!" before spitting again.

Eventually he calmed down, and we thought the episode had passed.

We were wrong.

After we got home, Noah got ready for bed while Shane encouraged him to play quietly. His stimming and self talk had become so loud that nobody could think. It is amazing what families adapt to because the girls barely looked up from what they were doing.

Then I heard Shane say, "Give me back my glasses."

I ran upstairs.

Noah was in full meltdown mode.

He had ripped Shane's brand new Under Armour shirt. Shane was simply trying to move Noah's blankets and pillows to find his glasses, but Noah kept coming after him.

I told Shane I would hold Noah while he looked.

Instead, Noah grabbed both of my legs and bit me.

Hard.

Right through my pants.

He left teeth marks, broke the skin, and honestly, I just stood there thinking... what the heck?

This has never happened before.

When I screamed, more from shock than pain, Riley and Ziva came out of their rooms to see what had happened. Noah finally backed off. Shane found his glasses, and we quietly left Noah alone in his room to calm down.

Then comes the question every special needs parent asks.

What do you do now?

We have followed every recommendation. We have met with every specialist. We are beginning our second round of behavioral therapy, although getting services is a marathon, not a sprint. That is a story for another day.

People often see families like ours in public and wonder why the parents look exhausted.

This is why.

It is not because we do not love our child.

It is because these moments happen without warning. One minute everything is fine. The next minute someone is dodging spit, searching for broken glasses, or explaining bite marks on their leg.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

You clean up the mess, check that everyone is okay, wonder what you missed, and somehow get ready to do it all again tomorrow.

By the end of days like this, you are exhausted, emotionally drained, and completely convinced that a vacation should qualify as medically necessary.

Then tomorrow arrives.

Noah will wake up smiling, ask for waffles because Teen Titans Go has taught him that waffles solve just about everything, and act as though none of it ever happened.

And honestly, maybe that is the lesson.

He moves on.

As parents, we eventually do too.

That is life with Noah.

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