A little tear left my eye a couple of days ago. You see, this plate had been a constant in our household for the last 10 years. Not just any plate, but a plate that saw many great times and not so great times with Ethan growing up and his Autism. I don’t even remember where it came from. How we got it. I don’t even really like monkeys. Ethan saw the plate broken on the bench and didn’t even flinch. I was the one that was sentimental and emotional about it all – it had meaning to me not him. He learnt how to use cutlery with this plate. Steve and I spent hours upon hours coaxing him to eat dinner, and this was while as a 4 year old boy, he had limited to no verbal skills, screaming for up to 8 hours a day with spontaneous nose bleeds and head banging against walls just from his pure frustration of not being able to communicate or be understood. Autism. Fuck me. IT.WAS.HARD. I didn’t hear the word “mum” until he was nearly 5. I bawled and howled like a baby so m
TRYING TO FIND THE BLISS IN THE MAYHEM OF EVERYDAY