Celebreality

I just read that Colin Farrell's son has Angelman syndrome. For some weird reason, and I feel stupid for admitting this, it always makes me feel better when I hear about a celebrity who has a child with a disability. Not in a 'ha, ha' kind of vindictive feel better way, but in a 'I am not alone' kind of way. Even though I know I am not alone, and I have lots of support, it still kind of makes it seem like it will all be OK. It's like when I was little and I couldn't sleep and I was allowed to leave the TV on, it made me feel less scared, like the monster couldn't get me because Welcome Back Kotter was on. I don't know if that makes any sense. First of all I do not wish that any one's child has a disability, but as a long as you're here, come on in and sit down. At any rate, he 'came out' to People magazine this week. He talked about how proud he was of his son and how he just took his first steps at age 4.

I now have to discuss Jenny. First off, I think what she did for autism awareness was amazing. Her media blitz last month got everyone yapping about autism, which I think is fabulous. I also feel like she wrote my story. Except for the fact that I am not a hot m.i.l.f., and my son didn't have the health issues her poor son had, and my hubs wasn't a complete jerk, she really wrote my story. I could relate to 100% of what she said, and how she said she felt. I have passed this book on to any and everyone who wants to know what it's like (for me). OK, that's the good, now here's the bad. Before I read the book, we had kind of tapered off on the biomeds. I was becoming obsessed with it, and I really put a lot of pressure on myself to be the perfect biomedical mother. The diet wasn't too tough although schlepping gluten free casein free foods in a cooler everywhere you went (including Europe!) was no picnic. The supplements were OK, a little bit tricky trying to disguise them and get them in without a fight. I stopped at chelation, it scared me and we didn't want to do it (although I am in awe of the parents that can- good for them!). It was a huge leap of faith but also a huge commitment to perfection on my part. Every time my son laughed or stumbled I wondered if yeast was overtaking his cute little body. Every time he would pick up a toy car and spin a wheel I felt a stab of anxiety that I wasn't trying hard enough with the vitamins and stuff. I worried that he had too much sugar or an infraction occured without me knowing it. I was a real drag. Bubs was doing sooooooo well, talking and interacting and just being so amazing. Since he started school and they take data on everything, which I love by the way, I figured that the data would show whether or not the whole protocol was helping. So I took him off. I had to do it for my son, for husband and for me. I was nuts. You know what, he kept going, he kept learning, kept talking, kept singing, kept being his great little self. I chilled and things got better all around. Fast forward to Jenny on Oprah. I watched, I cried, I laughed, I called my other autism mom friends. Then that feeling in the pit of my stomach came back. That little voice whispered; 'you are not doing enough, you have to do more'. Bingo, the biomedical spirit overtook me. I read Jenny's book, realized that I did most of the stuff in there at one point or another. I started back slowly, just a little clo. Is that eye contact improving? Hmmm, is he being more conversational? Did he just ask a why question???? OK, suffice it to say I was hooked and more obsessed than ever. I am contemplating the yeast treatment, we have three lac and caprylic acid poised in position and ready to go. Now my son is getting up at 5:45 am every morning. As I sit there trying to drag myself out of bed I start questioning myself- is it the clo? Is it the pro biotic I just started kicking up the yeast beast? The neurotic in me could go on and on and on. The little realist dwelling somewhere deep in my heart tries to feebly argue- 'He is just getting up early, that's all, no more no less'. The debate inside me goes on. Till I get burnt out on it again.