Sucker Punched

A boxer in the ring must always be prepared for the next blow. He needs to be tensed, alert, watching always for the next fist flying at him. He needs to block, feign, duck, dance, and punch back. And if he does get hit, all of his muscles are tensed in anticipation, so the injury won't be so severe. He does this until his round is over. He gets short breaks. Then he or the other gets knocked out, and the match is done. He gets to shower up, go home, get a massage, and rest. His muscles relax. His mind slackens. He is able to drift idly through his life until the next match.

Today my son got sent home from his drop-in daycare. I saw it coming. It should not have been a surprise. But when the call came, I was devastated. I cried. I called my boss to tell him I had to leave, and cried the whole time (yeah, that just gives your boss such a good, confident feeling about your mental stability). I cried when I called my husband. I cried all the way to the building and the whole time I was picking him up. I wish I had been pissed. I wish I had been anything than this person I had become, someone who was wallowing in self-pity and despair.

I forget that I am not allowed to let my guard down. This is what happens when my guard is down; I fall quickly and heavily into the darkest spot in my soul - the spot where I wonder why people think suicide is so bad. The spot where I wonder what the whole point of living this life could possibly be.

And it's all because I set myself up for the sucker punch. I allow myself to relax, to trust that things will work out, that my son will be understood and cared for.

This is the second time I have been completely devastated by my son's being removed from a daycare. The first time was the same story - I was told, "We would never kick Monster out, we love him and the kids love him", two weeks before the daycare mom stood before me and said, "I'm so sorry. Monster has to go.

It's easy to forget that not everyone out there who cares for my son thinks he is wonderful and is willing to see past his occasional bad points to the sweet, loving boy we know. They have jobs to do. They have other children to protect. They are understaffed, under trained, and for the most part, underpaid. The last thing they need is a difficult, sometimes-aggressive kid to deal with. They want him out.

Is it completely jaded of me to think that if I had given these people no warning about Monster (since I am always 100% up-front about these things in the hopes that they understand what they are in for and so they can tell me right then and there that they can't be bothered), they may have simply treated him as a "Oh, boys will be boys" kid, told him to stop fighting with the other boy (because this was NOT an attack out of the blue when M used to run across the playground to seemingly randomly select a child to pummel to the ground, no, this was a boy who hit Monster and Monster his back), and given him a 10-minute time-out?

I'm starting to wonder if giving these places this information beforehand gives them the upper hand. Maybe for once, if they didn't know M's diagnosis, they may wonder what THEY are doing wrong and how can they make things work better, instead of simply telling themselves, "well, I don't know how to work with these Asperger's kids! How am I supposed to know!?" And then it's my son's fault and they can assure themselves that they ARE good caregivers, but not when they get those evil children like mine to care for.

So. My new rule is this. Stay on my toes. never let them catch me with my dukes down. Take short, short breaks to cool off and drink water, then get back out there ready to fight. I hate those sucker punches and their long recovery periods. I need to keep my gloves on. And the bell ending the game won't ring. And even as I tire more fighters replace the old. It's me, just me, against all of them.

They will not push me to that point of despair again, if I can help it. Trust no one. Don't get your hopes up, Don't trust those who think they can care for your child. They may be the ones winding up for the blow you never recover from. They seem innocent enough. But I refuse to trust anymore.