I'd Like Some Cheese With My Whine

There is a villain in my house.

Currently, he is lurking in the shadows, creeping from room to room, and leaving havoc in his wake.

It's totally not even a happy, spooky Halloween-type villain either. Dude is a real jerk. A total bully.

Every special-needs family knows the villain called regression.

I seriously can't stand this creep. He has moved in, uninvited, and has stolen my Jack away. He has stripped my son of so many of the skills and positive behaviors which he had mastered. Those happy times, they are gone now.

We forget about regression, or I do anyway. I tend to always think that things are humming along beautifully, and that we will continue to climb to new heights every blessed day. I forget that my children with special needs do not always climb upward and move forward. There is a lot of meandering, backtracking, leaving the trail, and frankly, completely falling off the mountain.

Charlie is no stranger to regression either. For a period of two months last fall, he was completely potty-trained. I scarcely believe it as I write it, but it is true. He is so far from that beautiful autumn of perfect potty-usage. Now at age five and half, he deuces in the backyard or on his bedroom floor most of the time. (I know, it's TMI, but we talk about poop on this blog).

We were getting to the point with Jack where we could take him places, like Costco or out for cheeseburgers, and could reliably expect his good behavior. He was generally happy when he would arrive home from school, and could usually be found swinging in the backyard, or playing on the iPad while curled up on the couch.

But he has slipped backward. He is biting people at school daily. He is throwing things, like his brother's high chair, across the room, when he gets mad about not getting what he wants.

He is a ball of energy. A whirling dervish. He is constantly seeking sensory input, usually in the form of shredding something important and dropping it off the side of the deck. He is all "Give me your documents, your recipes, and your photographs. I'm gonna shred 'em. Then I'm gonna sprinkle them confetti-like in the backyard. Deal with it, mom." Or this is what he would say if he could talk.

I want happy Jack back.

I want Evil Dr. Regression outta here.