Bizzy's hands

Bizzy's hands are important. Deeply, profoundly important. I don't know why. In her world, they are...everything. Waving her fingers in front of her eyes offers...comfort, release, distraction, stimulation. They have always been the center of her universe. Even when she was a day old, she already had those long fingers in front of her face. When asked, "When did her repetitive behavior begin?" Bizzy's repetitive behavior is waving those fingers...and I have to answer, "She's done it for ever."

We don't silence Bizzy's hands. I don't reach up and still her fingers when they are working furiously millimeters from her eyeball. I've learned she's expressing herself through her fingers, through her hands. If you watch...you'll see it. "I'm stressed!" "I'm excited!" "I don't want to talk to you." It's all there.

When Bizzy puts her hand in mine...reaches us and places one of those all-important hands into mine...it's magic. It is trust, acceptance, love. It is being able to guide her, touch her, caress her. It says, "Mom, I know you're here. You won't lead me wrong. I know I am safe with you." She is sharing her hand with me. She is sharing her world with me. The feel of her little hand in mine is precious beyond words, and I savor it each and every time.

Mom sucks

The most frustrating part of being Zizzy's mom right now is that she wants nothing to do with me. For some reason, Dad is the preferred parent for...well, everything. She won't let me get her food, she won't get in the tub for me, lay down at bedtime, she won't even go to the restroom for me. It's frustrating for Dad, cuz he comes home to a tired, hungry, sometimes-stinky kid. But it's heartbreaking to know my child has a need and she just doesn't WANT me to help her. She doesn't want me around...she wants Dad.

Mom goes to endless meetings and fights for one-on-one aids, therapies, etc. etc. Mom drives her to said therapies. Mom does her laundry, cleans her room. But Mom might as well not exist...worse, she really wishes I didn't, apparently. I can't make her let me in...that would amount to a type of assault in her world. She's big enough and strong enough I cant' just pick her up and TAKE her potty or to the bath. Not only is she almost 50 pounds now, she's strong as heck. And I can't take any more lumps from her...at least, none that I don't already take on a daily basis.

So, when Dad calls and gripes about being the go-to guy, I want to cry cuz I'm the one being ignored and/or beat to a pulp.

I love my daughter.

Wish she loved me back.