Remember when I posted about P’s first “I love you Mommy“? Yeah, well that might’ve been been a teensy bit premature. I’m not feelin’ the love these days. Don’t get me wrong, he routinely tells Daddy, Mama, Papa, Grammy, his teachers, therapists, the mailman, and the Chinese takeout guy (by the way – Asia Cafe – vegetarian dumplings don’t *usually* include pork) how much he adores them – me “nah, not so much”.
Okay so kids with Autism get into routines. For example, I must ensure that Queen’s “Crazy little thing called love” is on repeat at all times in the car. (Funny aside here, I thought that song was by Elvis until like three weeks ago. I figure my husband is going to tell everyone about my lack of pop culture knowledge eventually so I’d better out myself first.)
Anyway, generally speaking I’m the one who prompts these “love” interactions most of the time. I’ll ask, “P, do you love <insert take out drivers name>” and he says “I love you, <not-vegetarian-dumpling-face-delivery-guy>”.
Once I said “Do you love Mommy?” and he said “No” and I did this whole “Boo hoo hoo, Mommy is so sad” thing. Which he found rather amusing.
So now it goes something like this.
Me: “P, do you love Mommy”?
P: “Yes. No, I do not love Mommy!”
Me: “Aww, Mommy is sad.”
P: “Mommy to cry her eyes. Boo hoo hoo”
It’s a fun game. I mean if you aren’t me, and if you aren’t all PMSing and insecure one night and end up really “crying your eyes” while your kiddo who has no concept of reading emotions laughs because he thinks you are playing a game.
And then he tells you to go to the garbage can.
And then you go downstairs and eat half a box of french truffles from Trader Joes and post macabre and vague status updates on Facebook while watching like 8 consecutive episodes of DVRed “I didn’t know I was Pregnant” and think I bet their baby says “I love you” and she freaking gave birth to him in a toilet and left him there cause she was all like “OMG, I didn’t know I was pregnant, I just thought I had to poop really bad”.
Pfft. Whatever. I’m Mommy! I’m the supreme goddess of “umm, mmm, umm”, eye kisses and “My Bink”. Take that pimply-faced college kid who sneaks non-kosher meat into my long craved dumplings!
In other news. Tonight in the bath P looks at me and says, “Let’s talk about the five senses.” I was all “Um, okay.” Then he says. “The five senses are smell, hear, see, taste, and touch.” (By the way, I had to pause while I was writing this to ask my husband what they were. Don’t judge. I wasn’t always this stupid.) So I said, “OMG, honey come here right now!” and had him recite them again. Then he’s like “You smell with your nose, you hear with your ears, you see with your eyes, you taste with your tongue, and you touch with your hands.”
I think it’s time for him to start balancing the checkbook.