A Square Peg

This is SP.

He’s 4. He’s a bright and bubbly little boy with a contagious laugh and a cheeky grin. He’s either to be found playing on his iPad or bouncing around the house. Unless he’s in the iPad or asleep he’s rarely still (hence the blurry photo). He’s a constant stream of chat. He likes ‘red’ crisps, chocolate buttons and cucumber. He can recite parts of Frozen verbatim and tunelessly but vigorously sings along to all of the songs.

He loves big cuddles and tells me he loves me.

He also has ASD.

He prefers to be alone at nursery and will withdraw into himself if he doesn’t like an activity. Which is better than how he used to lash out at anyone who would intrude on his space. He rejects all interaction with his 2-year-old nephew and has meltdowns so vigorous he’s earned the nickname ‘Lungs’ at his sister’s school. Throughout winter he would only wear his light summer coat and the soles of his shoes were falling off before he’d accept new ones that actually fit his feet and didn’t let in water. 

He still wears nappies. I have to cut his hair and nails in his sleep. Bath time is to be feared. He mostly only eats ‘red’ crisps, chocolate buttons and cucumber.

He won’t let me soothe him or touch him when he’s upset.

Officially we’re still waiting for his diagnosis (the BIG meeting is in a couple of weeks time) but I’m already on a course for parents with children with ASD. 

This is the beginning of a lifelong journey. For me and my husband as parents and for SP. SP, our Square Peg.

The thing is, life is full of round holes. Our journey is going to be trying to work out how much we need to shave SP’s corners to fit and whether that’s even a desirable thing to do. And if it’s not, how do we learn to live with his edges and how to adapt our world so that he still fits.

This is our story…