I was talking with a very close friend about a crisis* G had
in school last week and, after I’d been blabbing for some time, she said,
“Well, you’re so focused on his autism what with the blog and everything, and,
you know, all kids have struggles…”
Oh dear…Is that what people think, that for us it’s all blog
and/or autism? To clarify, I have three jobs now. So it’s a privilege to think
about this darling blog for even a fraction of a moment. Second, this
conversation had nothing to do with the blog [until now, anyway] or G’s having
asperger’s. Did I mention autism during my diarrhea of the mouth**? No. This –
all this I had been sharing with her about what happened at school, which
incident was very painful -- was
about
being
12.
This was, maybe, partly, also, being a child of a tough
divorce. But autism? Not so much. The main crisis-inducer here was, again:
being 12. Luckily, we are good
enough friends that we were able to clarify our respective perspectives well
and move on, but it sure got me thinking…
Is 12 the hardest age? My vote is yes. You are still so young, but bravely
trying to be “grown-up.” You are sullen, self-loathing, monosyllabic; while
also still wanting and needing to be taken care of and adored. You are still extremely cute and squeezable, yet you are, at
times, a jerk. Other times, you are sweet as sunshine. Then: jerk! Sunshine.
Sunshine. Jerk.
It’s SO moody at 12.
Your peers are starting to have serious interest in whoever
they might be interested in romantically; and, although you might not be quite
there yet, you feel it stirring. And it’s confusing.
Watching G sometimes, one can almost see the new feelings and hormones moving inside him,
moving him, like the sap running
in trees this time of year.
At 12, most kids won’t admit to still liking to play…and yet
they do still
like to play, in private or at home with younger siblings.
Sure, maybe for G, he’s a bit developmentally behind his
peers, but being 12 is something that happens to most people at some point,
whether they are 11 or 13 or…
Being 12 is, for G, about knowing soon you will have to put
away your stuffies.
Figure I – G has a LOT of
stuffies. His treasured seals [one is a manatee, oops!] are in front.***
Being 12, for G, also
means still being enough of a little one to offer your best stuffies to your
mom when she is sick.
Figure II – Healing Stuffies,
Blanco and Blancli, on Mama’s Pillow****
Being both of these is tender, and raw, and HUGE.
Sometimes things in the Full Spectrum household are pretty
near idyllic, and sometimes they are decidedly not. Sometimes that non-idyllic
situation has to do with autism or an attachment disorder or something else
entirely…Sometimes, for pure awfulness as
well as the occasional marvel, being 12 is enough.
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama
* Yes, I do use this word advisedly.
** I know I promised less diarrhea-focused writing; this is
diarrhea of the mouth.
*** Please, those of you for whom this blog is not
anonymous, DO NOT SHOW THESE PHOTOS TO YOUR 12 YEAR OLDS!
**** None of these stuffies will be gotten rid of. It’s
possible they will “belong” to G’s younger sister in future, or move to FSM’s
bed (shh, pardner doesn’t know about this), or be given to deserving, saintly
little ones in great need.
