Morphology

Ten years of parenting a RAD has morphed me.

Ten years of parenting an ASD son with a genetic issue has morphed me too.

I guess my first thought might be:

Hooray! I'm finally a super hero - I can morph!

Except maybe what I've morphed into doesn't jive with other humans, you know, the non-supers. So my second thought, a little less enthusiastic this time is:
hooray. I'm not normal.

Remember in the 80s how we thought being normal would be HORRIBLE? yeah. that was dumb.

Over time and repetitive actions by your SpEd kids you're entirely convinced that you've not only morphed, you can NEVER.GO.BACK. So the third thought a little irritated and sarcastically this time is:

 Great. I'm stuck as a blue footed booby. forever. LOVE that.

But after ten years the thoughts go like this:

*looking in the mirror* OMG. Who the BLEEP is that?!

*realizing it's your reflection* Dayum. When the BLEEP did I become this woman?!?

and then you hear your RADish screaming for God knows what reason she has to be screaming, again, for the fifth school morning in a row so you look at your reflection and attempt to pluck the hairs that have morphed your original two neatly shaped brows into an enormous, hairy caterpillar unibrow and say,


Ow. That hurts.

Only you're not talking about the plucking. you're talking about the reality that this is your life. Every day. This reality you now live is what morphed you into that THING staring back at you in the mirror.

then WHAP, you get smacked on the butt by your ASD son who is hyperspazz-stimming at the mo.

fun times.