Susan Senator

Nat was the first baby the family had seen in a decade or so, the first baby of all of my friends.  I look back and even though I was 27, I was like a girl with that tot.  I had no one to ask except my mom, who lived three hours away.  So everything was a discovery, so many things were a surprise.

One thing I remember being utterly surprised about was the swaddling.  I had no idea people did that.  The hospital nurses would present you with this tightly-wrapped bundle with a hatted head sticking out.  The hats also surprised me.  Everything was different from the cartoons, I guess, which were my only frame of reference.  In the end, cartoons of babyhood turned out to be just as accurate a depiction of infancy with Nat as Brazelton, Leach, or Spock.  (If only Eustacia Cutler had written a baby book:  Living With and Loving Your Autistic Baby. How wonderful!  Maybe I should.  Chapter 1.  Delight in his placid nature. 2.  The Difference Between Stimulation and Overstimulation.  3. I See a Line of Cars…4.  Revelling in Routines.  5.  Sesame Street:  Who Cares?  6.  Finding  Other Special Needs Parents to Hang With.)

Being too soft and well, clueless as Nat’s Mommy, I couldn’t even swaddle properly. It seemed weird to me.  I didn’t like it.  I wanted to feel him, not wrap him up.  The blanket ends always came undone.  Ned had to do it.  He was a champion swaddler.  He would wrap the boys into tight footballs and pass them to me like an eager quarterback.  It was explained to us that the swaddling calmed the baby, made him feel better from the pressure; it was womb-like.  That made sense to me. I imagine now that swaddling felt really good to Nat, if it’s true what they say about deep pressure being a relief to many with ASD.  I think deep pressure is a relief to many of us.

Over the years I forgot about the beneficial pressure from swaddling, and as Nat graduated from OT and Sensory Integration Therapy (more accurately, was kicked out for being too old or too aggressive), we forgot about deep pressure, and how well he responded to being held that way.

As an adult, Nat is always on the go.  He burns hot and fast.  Sometimes that spills over into his emotional state.  Lately we have seen the return of his anxiety, which does seem to be somewhat seasonally inspired.  Autumn, even a gorgeous summery autumn like this one, sets him on edge.  I am not surprised; it does that to me, too.  The air and the light is too sharp, like glass.  Everything has sped up:  the pace, the change of leaf colors, the routines.  It may be that Nat enjoys the routine of fall, but that it’s “too much joy,” something I’ve mentioned in earlier posts.  Too much joy for Nat means it’s just too good to bear and it flips over into anxiety.

I got the weekly call from Nat’s teacher and I was not surprised to hear that Nat’s been getting worked up about routines, particularly other people’s routines.  He is a yenta of the first degree, his nose in everyone else’s business:  “Mommy will get dressed;” “Daddy will take off his shoes;” “Ben will eat breakfast;” “Max will wake up” (good luck with that, my son)  At school he watches and waits for everyone to do what they’re supposed to do.  We are all slugs, laggards in Nat’s view.  He’s fast and efficient; what’s wrong with the rest of us??

I was interested to hear Will, Nat’s teacher, say that what he has found works to help Nat be less anxious is to be firm with him.  Confident, not soft.  Direct.  Tell him it is not his business, that we are not talking about Eli or Sam right now.  He only has to think about Nat, not Max, Ben, or Mommy.  (And people say autistics don’t notice anyone but themselves!  Hmph)

I told Ned that we are going to have to try to be more consistent and firm with Nat, that it will alleviate his stress and calm him down, even though it seems counter-intuitive.

But not to Ned.  “It’s just like the swaddling,” he said.  Ned knows — has always known — that Nat just needs to be reigned in, and held tight.