Sunday 8 August 2010

Love You More

As I mentioned before, we're supposed to keep a log of the autistic things R does each day, to present as evidence when we apply for his statement of special needs. I made up special sheets and found a clipboard to attach them to, but it sits in the kitchen, mostly unused every day, collecting coffee mug stains. We find it hard now to recognize what an autistic behavior is because as far as we can see, all of it is autistic, like a pattern in a stick of rock. What should we write? "R spun the wheels of an object for 15 minutes today…. R didn't eat anything that wasn't made from pigs, bread, or sugar today… R failed to make conversation today beyond saying, 'May I have some ham, please?'" (It has to be said that G, his speech therapist, is pleased as punch he's picked up the "May I?...?" construction, making him the first child she's ever worked with who got that this early in his development.)

I know it's very important we keep this log, but I keep putting it off, like I do with filing my tax returns or working out expenses. Also, knowing that we need to accentuate the negative behaviours – the biting, the tantrums, the refusal to recognize the common laws of social etiquette - all the time depresses me. Instead, I want to note down the positive things he does, like helping to bring in the groceries, or showing imagination by pretending his toys are alive and want drinks or nibbles of his toast. He's taken up a particularly cute habit lately of holding one of his many Thomas the Tank Engines toys up to his face and grinning at it, then laughing and declaring that "Thomas is funny," as if Thomas has just made a face at him or told a particularly ribald joke.

I don't think he's going to lack a sense of humour. He finds slapstick on TV hilarious already, but is also amused by silly games. At bedtime, we have a fun little routine that works with rather than against his echolalia (tendency to mimic heard phrases) to amusing effect. I say, "love you," to him, and he repeats back, "love you," in a cheerful little voice. Then I say, "I love you more," and he repeats it back with the exact same intonation. Then I say, "No, I love YOU more," he repeats that back until one of us gives up. I think he knows what love means. If he doesn't, sheer repetition ought to familiarize him with the concept.