Kike got up with River this morning. We’re all still groggy after the holiday. We didn’t make it to Summer’s 9am swimming lesson, but honestly, I feel like she’s done plenty of swimming over the last week.
Last night we folded the clean clothes and today I managed to put everything away as if we’d never been gone. Strange how that happens. I prepped for about a month before the holiday but it’s all unpacked and tidied within 24 hours. We own so much suncream.
River still isn’t exactly himself. Lots of noises instead of words and very clingy. I’m hoping it’s just him making sense of everything rather than him being sick. I set up the garden and he was happily back at his water tray, as if he’d never left it.
After lunch, though, he grew incredibly needy again and curled up on my lap like a baby, just the way I’d been rocking him at the airport. He fell fast asleep. His first nap in a long while.
That nap gave me a couple of unexpected hours. I even did some gardening, which I never do. But we’ve had the fence quote through and if we ever want to afford another holiday, I might have to pull out the occasional weed myself.
The return to normal
Tomorrow is the real return. Kike back to work, me home with both kids. No more holiday club days left for Summer (yet). The diary had looked worryingly empty but a few messages and a casual run-in with a friend have turned it into a week of playdates and outings.
I’d asked Kike to take River out for a bit today, just to give me a breather, as I don’t see much space for myself this week. But the day went a different direction, River’s nap, Kike catching up with work and the window for him to leave with River disappeared.
I felt that familiar panic rising: This was meant to be my break. When do I get one?
And then it hit me. I could just… leave.
The kids were eating their dinner. Kike was supervising while answering emails. They were safe, settled. I didn’t need to be there. So I went for a walk, which turned into drinks with a friend.
I need to remember this. To take the time when it’s presented, not to wait for someone to offer, or for it to be pre-planned. Otherwise, you make yourself into a martyr. I’m lucky, I have a supportive husband and a home where both kids are happy and safe. If I’m the one who needs a break, then I need to be the one who steps out and takes it.
Looking ahead
Tomorrow we’re heading to a pre-booked SEND outing I’ve been looking forward to, the Postal Museum. Honestly, if you haven’t seen it, check out the website. It actually looks really cool. Well, as cool as museums can be.
The journey will be the trickiest bit. About an hour across London: bus, long tube, then a 20-minute walk. But at least it isn’t 7am.
Today’s thought: assumptions
With not much happening today, I wanted to tackle another common assumption.
“Well, he’s very clever, he can name all the shapes and count to ten. He’s not like those ones who can’t talk.”
Assumptions like this are rarely helpful.
If you don’t “look autistic enough,” people assume you don’t need any adaptations. They don’t offer them, and then they get frustrated when things go “wrong.”
And if you do “look autistic enough,” you risk the opposite: infantilisation, constant patronising, being spoken to like you’re not capable.
River doesn’t fit neatly into either of those boxes. He can count shapes but he also struggles to process transitions. He can say the most beautiful things but sometimes can’t speak at all. He can climb playground equipment with no fear but can scream at the sound of a hand dryer.
Assumptions smooth over all that complexity and that’s where the damage is done. What he really needs is for people to pause, to ask, to listen. To meet him where he is, not where they expect him to be.
I can’t accept credit for this particular insight, my close friend Sadie shared this with me and it needed to be shared. She will be enjoying the postal train with us tomorrow!
50 days of River 
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