Today as I shuffled through monotony that is laundry. I cried sitting in my son’s closet over his pajama bin.
I may sound a bit silly, but I’m someone who tends to cry. There are times when a mixture of anxiety, fear, and shame accumulates within me, and the only way to release it is through tears.
Today pajamas pushed me over the edge.
My son has autism. Autism often presents communication challenges. My son does speak so I know we have it easier than others but it remains a constant obstacle for us. My husband, his teachers, and I are continually striving to gain insights into the depth of his understanding, deciphering what he truly comprehends.
Understanding pajamas has always been a bit challenging for my son. When he started speaking more fluently at around the age of six, it became apparent that he used the term “jamas” to describe all types of clothing. I had to patiently and repeatedly explain that pajamas are the clothes you wear to bed. Over and over, for years.
I believe he’s always had some awareness that bedtime clothing is different from daytime clothing, but due to communication barriers, it was difficult to be sure.
This last year, there has been progress. When we ask him to put on pajamas, he still needs a lot of prompting, but he eventually selects pajamas from the designated bin. It seemed like he was beginning to grasp the distinction between regular clothes and pajamas.
However, last I returned home late from a church event, and my husband had been in charge of preparing the kids for bed. My son approached me wearing regular clothes, different from what he had worn during the day, but definitely not pajamas.
I asked, “Hey buddy, did you have your bath yet?” I was met with the familiar blank stare, something that happens quite often, but I always offer him the chance to respond if he wishes or can.
My husband eventually explained that he had indeed had a bath, and when he told him to put on pajamas, those were the clothes he selected from his drawer.
My husband allowed him to keep with the clothes being proud that he got dressed on his own and the clothes were comfy enough to wear to bed.
I wasn’t sure why, but it left me feeling a bit sad. While there has been clear progress and he did a great job, today sitting over that bin I realized it somehow symbolized much more.
The challenge of communication often leaves us in a constant dilemma: we either assume he knows more than he reveals, or it signifies that he doesn’t.
My son never ceases to surprise us when he suddenly expresses or demonstrates something we believed he didn’t know.
It’s a complex mix of emotions: the guilt of underestimating your child, intertwined with pride in their unspoken abilities. For many of us, it instills a sense of hope – that everything we hope to see in our child is indeed within them.
His choice of the wrong type of clothing might have been a momentary lapse in thought. Or maybe he genuinely wanted to wear that outfit to bed and deliberately selected it.
I do recognize the progress that has been made, but for some reason, in that particular moment, he seemed to get confused, he forgot. And that means something.
It’s not a big deal, really, but it serves as a reminder that he does struggle to remember things, and it’s been a long and challenging journey to reach this point.
It’s not just about pajamas; it extends to many aspects of his life.
It’s about understanding who he is and where he’s at in his development. I love him immensely, and I need to accept and embrace that.
However, there are moments when I feel sadness because I’ve placed expectations on him that may have been unrealistic.
I despise that I do that. That I let it make me sad, and I wish I didn’t, but I’m only human.
Sometimes, I find myself shedding tears in the closet while folding pajamas. Sometimes the reminders of where we are at hurt.
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