Hypersensitive

I am unable to determine whether Erik enjoys preschool or not. I imagine he does on some level, but I'm sure if he was asked, he would choose to attend adult functions with me during the day over soaking his fingers in globs of paint and drinking watered down juice from Dixie cups with people his size.

We bundled up today and drove to school. Jeff shouted hello from his perch behind the window of the school bus. Once we were inside, I ran into the EI parent group moderator. She attempted to strike up a conversation with Erik, but he largely ignored her and sunk into silence. I led him to his cubby in the classroom and asked him to unzip his jacket, but he stood there and stared at the floor. I removed his jacket halfway, which prompted him to reach up and pull it off completely. He went through the motions of hanging it on a hook in his cubby with my hand over his, which was impressive to me. At this point, things went quickly downhill. We were fairly early, so there were only a couple of children in the classroom at the little table that held a tiny, wooden train set. Erik's subsequent meltdown was a complete surprise to me. I craned my neck from where I stooped on the floor to see what had caused this outburst. A girl played with a relatively pleasant musical toy, and I could only guess that triggered his hyperacusis. My boy's face turned tomato-red, and his bottom lip stuck out in a fleshy shelf. Tears began to squirt from the corners of his eyes as if he was in agony. I wrapped my arms around him as he continued to sob. The teachers began a maddening but sympathetic game of "Guess Why He's Upset?" I finally speculated out loud that it was the musical toy that pushed Erik over the edge. As the explanation was coming from my lips, Jeannie intercepted the electronic toy and switched it to a lower volume. She then told me I could do what I needed to do, giving me subtle permission to leave the room. I kissed Erik on the forehead, and he reached his arms out for me. That killed me. I said goodbye and walked away. I knew that he would calm down quickly once I was gone.

I wasn't in a fabulous mood to begin with this morning. I'm feeling overwhelmed, and little things are causing me to snap like a dry twig. For once I welcomed the voices in my head when I got back to the Jeep as I tried to sort my feelings out. I thought long and hard about all that Erik and I have been through in that building. In retrospect, it is quite clear that the old days were so much darker. One year ago, he slumped over and was motionless every day he was there. I remember pounding the door open and sprinting to him thinking he was having some sort of seizure when he was just playing dead around the other children. We both cried a lot. Today had a very similar feel to it, but I concluded that Erik has come leaps and bounds from where he used to be and that there will be days like this. Yes, they still suck, but they are better. Satisfied with my own self-help session, I took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition.

As I drove across town, my cell phone rang. I answered it as if I was Mary Poppins on Prozac, hoping that pretending I was in a better mood would make it true. It was Jeannie. She reported that Erik had calmed down but was silent. One of his goals is to play with other children, so she is pushing him a bit in that area, but he wasn't having it today. She said he watched them intently, refusing to join in and looking like he wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. She was honest but strangely reassuring. Knowing he wasn't sobbing took some of the sting away. I said a heartfelt thank you and hung up.

I turned the car in the direction of the grocery store. I suddenly felt like visiting the cleaning aisle and sniffing the new dish soaps and laundry detergents to drown my sorrows.