She turns her head. I turn with her. She looks the other direction. I stay in her face. She looks up, I move my head up. She looks down, my face moves right with her.
Eventually, for a fleeting second, her eyes lock with mine. "Good job, we can read the book now."
And Llama Llama Mad at Mama gets read for the 3rd time today. And I really just want to fly away.
I want on a plane to someplace warm and sunny. A beach would be nice. Someplace I'm not fighting to keep the drafts out. Some place it doesn't take 15 minutes to get the kids into their snow suits and mittens and where they don't fall flat on their faces 3 times on the way to the car, spread eagled in the snow, unable to move thanks to all the layers I packed on them.
I want to fly away from this world of fighting for eye contact. It's been a week, and I'm tired of it. I'm sick of almost every interaction becoming a battle for that elusive skill. And I read the books in hopes of finding a reason she doesn't have it. And sometimes, I find hope. Other times, I read the list and realize they're describing my child without ever having met her. I'm used to the idea of fighting for eye contact during discipline, or from a teenager, but when they just want to read a book and you still have to fight for eye contact... it's draining. It's a constant reminder of something I don't want to be reminded of.
I want to fly to a normal world. To a simple world, of a toddler's questions, of constant "what's that?" and "why?" Where the coming month is filled with holiday parties and wrapping gifts and singing carols, not with developmental assessments and autism centers and therapy. I long to fly to a world where I hear a childish rendition of Away in a Manger sung by my own child. I'd even settle for Itsy Bitsy Spider sung next to the Christmas tree.
I want to fly to a place no plane could ever take me. But since I want to fly to a dream world, I might as well make that dream world include a beach.
Stop: That took way more than five minutes, mainly because of a one year old shutting herself in the bedroom, the one and two year olds using moving boxes as stools and not always staying upright, a reading of "Where's Baby's Belly Button?," and a couple loose shoes. Thankfully, the only hard and fast rule is to leave some encouragement for your link-up neighbor. Come join us at Lisa Jo's blog for 5 minutes (even if it's spread out over an hour) of writing without obsessing over perfection.