“Mom, I used to dream of evil tofu and dancing vegetables that I had to fight off with a tea spoon.” Will said to me as I worked to complete this post.
Will turned six-teen this past June. He has come a long way since the days of speech therapy and his diagnosis.
He was a happy baby with no particular problem with sleep. When he was one, I would sing for an hour, and then it gradually moved on to reading for an hour, and someone would have to stay in the room with him until he fell asleep.
He slept on his own when he was about four. Then he began coming into my room in the middle of the night until I chased him back to his room. To be honest, I was hard on him. There may have been something I could have done, if I had known what was going on. He could not tell me what was bothering him. I treated him as if he was a spoiled child.
After days of sending him back to his room, he never came out again. I am very lucky because he made it through without too much difficulty on my part. Then he received his diagnosis when he was 8.
Since then, I tried to stay consistent as possible rituals.
1. His bag is ready for the next day.
2. No cell phone, Itouch, computer, TV in his room. The only electronic is the alarm clock.
3. Lights out at 9:15 unless he has unfinished homework or it is a weekend.
He has been remarkably cooperative, but I have tried to be consistent and it has worked for me. I hope he doesn’t start rebelling.
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