One to use the knife

"It takes one to use the knife, one to hold the animal, and one the walk in the woods and cry."*

When I started this draft a few weeks ago, I had yet to be the one to "use the knife." That's changed now.

 I came home last week to a dying chicken and the feeling of owner responsibility waiting in the backyard.  I have squished a small number of spiders (and, after the panic subsided, felt immense guilt) and probably run over a few living things with my car without knowing it. Intentionally taking the life of an animal is something I've wondered if I could ever do though. From the moment I learned she was suffering, I knew I had it in me.

I expected to feel sick as I grabbed the axe and prepared a place to make the swing. I cried as I cradled the chicken to my chest, feeling bad that I had taken so long to find the sharp axe. I shook as I laid her soon-to-be-lifeless body on the round of wood. The worry of whether I was strong enough to carry my swing all the way through teased at the edges of my mind. I knew I was physically capable; I worried that my body would cease up at the last moment inflicting pain while failing to end her life.

I took a breath, picked up the axe and swung. Once. Thoroughly.  Powerfully. Effectively. And that was it. I felt peaceful and good about my decision. Proud of my strength. Relieved to know that when it comes time to make hard decisions, I can make them. And follow through. I had fears of turning into a monster in my mind. I was surprised to learn that I felt less selfish and more compassionate as a result.

I used to be the one to "walk in the woods and cry". And that's okay.  I don't think it's a linear progression or that it's required for all to go through. I think we all have the opportunity and burden to fulfll each of these roles in some capacity at different points in our lives. I am not sure I could kill as easily if the animal were healthy or if I wasn't the only one around with the capability/responsibility. The important thing is that I am open to it changing.


*I first heard this saying from some neighbors who are very involved with land management and Native American traditions. I wish I could give credit where credit it due, but I am not sure of its origin, 

Babbling Grief

Have you ever heard a baby babble? It's heart-melting! My friend moved nearby and I'm watching her forth child (born this fall) do things my son never did. He coos. He babbles. Did I mention that? He smiles. And doesn't get lost in staring at string. She reports no obsession with toothbrushes.

BabyBee has made huge leaps since his tiny baby days but I wonder how it would have felt to have a sleeping, pooping, cuddling bundle fresh from the womb.  I thought I knew how "not normal" things were at the time; I just didn't realize just how far off we were from average. (I should have been clued in when our "birth to three" early intervention eval said we were -2.76 standard deviations from the norm in several areas. Apparently that didn't quite sink in) 

I miss those baby days we didn't have.

I'm grateful though for the tiny BabyBee days that we did have. (The toddler BabyBee days are much more fun though!)

A is for...

Baby Bee is obsessed with the alphabet right now. Well, certain letters of the alphabet that is. He loves to find the letter “B” on book titles or packages, and searches diligently for the letter “P” on buses and billboards. He points out the “W”s in whatever media I’m reading and jumps in to the alphabet song when we get to “O.” Hearing him attempt to say “alphabet” is pretty cute too.

Our family recently received a personal helping of Alphabet Soup. Baby Bee has formally received a diagnosis: ASD, or Autism Spectrum Disorder. We’d been operating under the informal SPD label (Sensory Processing Disorder) and figured there was more to the story. The letters themselves came as no surprise: ASD level 2, with some unofficial words about “highly gifted” and “cognitive abilities of a four year old in some areas” thrown in. 

In our family, A is now for Autism.

We were in disbelief at first. Did we really, finally get someone to tell us what was going on with Baby Bee? The trend, in working with families in the early years of life, is to say, “Come back later. In several years. Let’s wait and see how things turn out. He might catch up. It’s too hard to sort out right now.” So we were amazed that someone said, “Hey, your kid really does fit the profile. Here’s some letters for him!”

Then the disbelief turned to joy--help is on the way! We qualify for therapies specifically designed for kids with ASD, like ABA (applied behavioral analysis) therapy. Can’t wait to get started!

Now we are in a funny place. We are fighting the insurance company for the help that’s supposed to be here already and wondering if we will ever get a good night’s sleep—or a nap during the day for that matter.  Plus 3 to 6 months of sitting on service waiting lists seems like a long time when your kid isn't even two. We are exhausted after all this advocating and realizing that we will probably have to continue to advocate for everything in the future. We weren't scared to get a diagnosis, but deep down, a little piece of me thought having a definitive name to describe our lives, meant things would somehow get easier in their own right.

I think this is the part of the post where I am expected to tie things up. Loop us back around from A to Z, and say something clever about Baby Bee being so exceptionally smart and how lucky we are as parents. Or about how we wouldn't change a thing about him even if we could. Instead, I’ll let you share in our present discomfort, and you can know that this is where we truly are right now. Grateful, tired, grieving, hopeful...did I mention tired?

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As far as the homestead, my energies have focused more on Baby Bee while Mr. Bee’s been doing most of the animal work. My role is primarily limited to getting a teenager goat’s head unstuck from the same gate *every single day.* No small task, I assure you. We’ll post more about those happenings soon, I hope.