What REAL SPD looks like...

by Kia
(Ontario, Canada)

The following "exhibits" are samples from my blog, to give you an idea of what SPD looks like in our house. I refer to myself as "Kia" and my son as "Little Man." To read more than this, please visit my blog at www.goodmum.wordpress.com!

Sensory Processing Disorder, Exhibit # 3,498:

We’re in the car, today, riding with my dad, Little Man’s Papa. Little Man’s CD of the Watoto Children’s Choir is blaring quite loudly. My dad and I are trying to carry on a quiet conversation…


Kia: “Little Man, please don’t be so rude. Papa and I are trying to have a little chat while you listen to your music.”

Little Man: “BUT I CAN’T hear my music. It’s my favorite song and now you’ve ruined it!”

Kia: “Buddy, you need to get over yourself! ” (I didn’t say this was a proud moment)

Little Man: “But, aggghhhhh…the talking is hurting my ears and I can’t listen to my music when my ears are hurting.”

Kia: Sigh. Turn to face dad. “Sorry*, dad. I think I need to get him his own little portable cd player with headphones so that he can ‘hear’ his music without his ‘ears hurting’ from the quiet conversation.”

*I feel like I do a lot of apologizing and compensating for my son’s behavior. I feel kind of disloyal to him sometimes when I do it, but I’m always too frigging worried about what other people think.

Sensory Processing Disorder, Exhibit # 3,499:

We’re in Little Man’s bathroom, going through the agonizing lovely parts of his bedtime routine. I’m holding LM’s spidey toothbrush in my hand, clenching my jaw and yet still managing to spit out the words…

Kia: “Little Man, we do this every single day. TWICE! You know that you have to brush your teeth. You know that if you don’t brush your

teeth, you’ll get cavities. Just brush. your. teeth.”

Little Man: “I caaaaaaannnnnnnn’t….. It’s grrrrrroooooossssss. It makes me puuuuuuuukkkkkeeee. I caaaaannnn’t…..”

Kia: “LIT.TLE. MAN! Brush them!”

Little Man (gagging and begging me with his eyes to please make it stop, inserts toothbrush delicately into his mouth)

Kia (realizing, again, for the millionth time, how incredibly hard and uncomfortable this is for my boy): “Aw, baby, I know it’s hard and you hate it. I’m so proud of you for doing such a good job. Just a little more. You’re doing awesome babe.”

Little Man (spitting, very dramatically): “Blech. Gross. Can I be done now?” (And he’s gone. Out of the room.)

This same routine happens twice daily in our house. Don’t you wish you could be me? Better yet, don’t you wish you could be Little Man? Poor little dude. I just wish I could find more patience. Be less of a bitch, you know? It’s so bloody hard.

Sensory Processing Disorder, Exhibit # 3,500:

Tonight, as I’m gently tucking Little Man in to bed,

Little Man: “Ow! Mommy! You’re hurting me!”

Kia: “Oh. Sorry buddy. I was just trying to give you a love touch.”

Little Man: “Love touches shouldn’t hurt, Mommy.”

Kia: “Ok, next time I’ll warn you before I’m going to give you a love touch. Would that be better?”

Little Man: “Yes, Mommy. Much better. Next time, you ask permission before you give me a love touch.”

Kia: “Ok, baby.”

At times like this, it really saddens me to think of how hard life can be for my boy. A simple thing, like a tuck-in from mommy, is such an ordeal for his little body and mind. It should be a warm, fuzzy kind of thing, but instead it’s just one more thing that he needs to prepare himself for. Prepare me for. I know it could be so much worse, but it makes me sad.

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