That Mom

Warning: This post contains raw emotion and brutal truth…but really it’s not that much of a stretch from what I normally post…regardless…this is real life.


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Target. We’re Target people. Some people like Wal-Mart, some people like CostCo, once upon a time there were K-mart people, but we’re Target people…Larkin will tell you.

Kellen had a good home visit with his teacher today, and we got some new ideas for activities for him. So I decided to pack him up and head to Target to spend a Target giftcard he had gotten for his birthday to get some of the supplies…and then all hell ensued.
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Once upon a time I was known as “that girl”. Many of you remember that. There was a whole poem I wrote to go along with it. It basically revolved around one day where I had to go get yet more bloodwork drawn for my infertility work-up and upon recounting my history to the young girl drawing my blood, she gave me a look of such sympathy, that I finally realized I was “that girl”. She saw freaking infertile women all day long, but I was the one that had it bad, I was the one that warranted the sad sympathetic look with the pat on the hand, and the “there’s still hope” speech…I was “that girl”…the one no one wants to be, the one everyone was afraid to be…that was freaking me.

And guess what…today I graduated…to “that mom”.
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All I wanted to do was take my son to Target…so those of you that can successfully do that with one kid (or 3 or 5), well just be grateful is all I can say. It’s not like I was trying to grocery shop. I was trying to get him a few things…and find a piggy bank…since he broke theirs yesterday and Larkin was upset.

It started off well…raining outside which he loves, got in the cart without a problem. Made it to the back of the store…and then a portal to hell appeared halfway through the toy aisles. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I could see that he wanted in our current aisle. I had picked up this blinky sensory looking thing as soon as we got there so he had something not to mention the two cars we came in with. He lost it…no consoling him. So I attempted to get him out of the cart. He took me 3 aisles over…to a Finn McMissile…SUCCESS! He knew what he wanted…it was $25 but oh well, he CHOSE something. He was walking around with it babbling contentedly so I decided to wander back over the 3 aisles to our original cart. I put him back in and not 1 minute later, he shoved the car at me and freaked out.

Ok, fine, I’ll open it. I did. Still not happy.

I took him out of the cart, Finn in hand, still not happy. <<<People are staring…they think they’re staring at a spoiled kid…I’m too busy trying to figure him out to turn around and explain…but I’m aware…very aware of the eyes>>>

I try to walk with him, pushing the cart, trying to get the Legos we came for…tantrum…and tantrum…<<<and now the Target workers are staring>>>. I continue talking calmly and trying to figure out what his trigger is.

He’s finally lost it enough that I put him back in the cart. I try some of the tricks his teacher has taught me (squeezes, tickles, sensory type things), nothing works…it just gets worse.

And then the nightmare hits it peak….literally. He starts lashing out so bad that I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself in the cart. While I’m trying to unbuckle him, he’s trying to hit me, bite me, kick me…<<<EVERYONE is staring now>>>. I try to turn down a less traveled aisle, but we don’t make it. I get him out of the cart. At that point, he ends up on the dirty ground of Target, in such a tantrum that he’s lost both shoes, and I’m having trouble staying within 12 inches of him due to the flailing feet, arms, etc. <<<We happen to be near the baby section…I see a very pregnant woman look over at us, and give us “that look”… guess what lady…if that’s a boy you’re carrying…1 in 70 chance that this is you in 3 years…if you knew that, would you sit there with that judgmental look on your face?>>>

At this point, I knew it was over. We’d never make it through checkout. With an already opened toy in our cart, I put his shoes in my purse, I gathered him up the best I could (facing outward…that generally prevents the worst of the hitting, biting, kicking), and proceeded to walk out of Target carrying my poor tormented son with my head held as high as possible.

<<<People stared…everyone stared…because everyone stares at “that mom”>>>

There was one particular mother/daughter pair that couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away for the entire time I was walking towards them/past them on the way to the exit (which felt like about 5 hours). They had the look of “oh my God, that is one bad kid”. And there it was…I couldn’t stand it anymore. I very calmly said “It’s not bad behavior…he’s autistic”. Their faces changed at once, and the mom put her hand over her heart and said “oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

Is she sorry that she was staring and judging me? Or is she sorry that my son is autistic?
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When I was infertile and miscarrying (again and again), well meaning people would always say things like “in God’s time” or “it will happen when it’s meant to” while I was currently bleeding my entire insides out. There was that constant reinforcement of “It’s not your fault”. But when those same people see you with a disaster in the middle of the aisle at Target, the sympathy is gone and they assume you’ve done something wrong. Your child is a behavior problem, and it IS your fault.

No, guess freaking what, I prayed for a healthy baby just like you, and I got a little more of a challenge, so how about a little freaking compassion. What I would have done for someone to pick up his shoe one aisle over and just throw it in the freaking shopping cart while I was being hit and kicked just trying to keep him safe. Do you think I’m talking to him in a calm voice because I’m a bad parent? No, I’m just trying to keep it from getting freaking worse. I’m trying ANYTHING to calm him. Because there’s no freaking doctor that can tell me what to do…because they don’t exist, they don’t have a freaking clue, either.

I can’t tell you how many moms lately I’ve seen slap their kids on the hand or butt because they’re whining or want something, and that mom who looks like she could care less can’t be burdened with their request at that moment because they’re too busy on their phones or reading the magazines at the checkout aisle.

What I wouldn’t GIVE to know WHAT THE HELL IT IS that he wants, that he needs. I would freaking give it to him if I just knew.
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I never cried in the store…I carried my screaming flailing 3 year old out to the car in the rain, buckled him in his car seat while talking calmly under his tormented screams, went around the car, sat in the drivers seat and let a few tears fall…you can only hold it together so long.
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I hope someday to run into “that mom” at Target.

Because I will retrieve her kid’s shoe.

Because I will take her cart to the front, buy the 2 things she needed and take them to the car for her.

Because I will show her compassion and show her that I know that raising one son with autism is harder than raising 6 neurotypical kids.

Because I will show her that she’s not alone…as many of you have done for me…I wish you guys had been at Target today…because not only would you guys have gotten his shoe…you would have gotten me a latte and a bottle of wine.

So for those of my fellow “that mom”’s, this glass of wine is for you.

And for those of you that would have cared enough to get his shoe…thank you…the world needs more people like you…more than you, or the world knows…but “the moms” know what’s coming…what’s already here…and it’s days like this that remind me that I still need to enlist in the war.