You know how some days just feel more autistic than others? Today was a very autistic day for Bud. In her post "A little bit of Hollywood (#20)," Charlie's mom submits the hypothesis that "a change in the barometric pressure--as when a storm is gathering in the sky, all gray thundering clouds and moisture accruing in the air--seems to occur parallel with a behavioral squall in Charlie." I hadn't specifically noticed the pattern before, but I had an instant "a-ha" moment when I read that.
There have been thunderstorms brewing outside since morning. The air is thick and heavy and is waiting, waiting, waiting for the coming storm that threatens and looms. And poor little Bud has been a mess all day.
This morning he was uncharacteristically weepy. "Bud's sad," he said, as his Nana helped him get ready for school and talked about all the fun things he'd do there. He only responded with more tears. "But you don't love school!" he told her. And as I loaded him into the car for the long mournful drive to school, he enumerate the many reasons why this was a bad idea: "But I'm too big. School is too early. But school is loud. It's too late for school, Mama."
Somehow he made his way through his time at school (coincidentally the day his kindergarten teacher chose to come and observe him... figures, right?) The teachers didn't get into detail but said "he wasn't himself."
After school, Nana took him to Dunkin' Donuts - usually a favorite treat. But the Munchkins went uneaten and Bud went into manic phase, approaching truck drivers with uncharacteristic bravado and loudly scripting from Sesame Street, "Are YOU my mystery friend???"
Tonight there was a happy lull while he played Mr. Potato Head with his dad, and I made the very grave error of allowing him to stay up much too late. As a result, bedtime was a dreary mess of tears, sobs, snot, kicking, scripting and pleas that made very little sense: "No, Mama, No! What are you doing?! Stop it, Mama! Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitmama! Mama, no!" I'm sure if the neighbors could hear him they'd think I was beating him, and not sitting next to him trying to read Curious George. I piled him into his swing to try to get some sensory regulation going, but he kept the monologue running: "Oh no no no! Mama, I need something bigger! I need something bigger! PLEASE, Mama!" The poor kid just spiraled out of control until he finally wore himself out.
I've been scratching my head all evening. Did I accidentally give him the wrong dose of Adderall? But I didn't. I know I didn't. I think that Charlie's mom is on to something. The storm is brewing, and it's closer than we know.