This month is going by in a bit of a blur.

Last week, on my new day off, I was full of plans. I took River to school, came home, put the washing out and went to have a shower so I could get ready to go out. Kike gained an unexpected day off so I thought we could go for a walk along the river and grab some lunch somewhere.

I started to feel a little bit cold so I climbed back into bed while I googled lunch spots nearby.

I think you’re guessing where this story might be heading.

Yep. I fell asleep.

9.45am.

I slept until gone 12pm, then tried to find some energy and salvage what was left of my child-free time, but Kike took one look at me and gently suggested that we could get a takeaway and I could lie down on the sofa.

It was a good call and I was back in bed fast asleep at 8pm that night.

I’ve been sleeping a lot at the moment, going to bed as soon as the kids have gone to bed, but I still feel exhausted. I thought September might be my body recovering from the intensity of the summer holidays, grabbing its rest wherever it can.

I think that’s partly it.

I think it also might be connected to River starting back at school.

A Lot of Change

We were warned that the transition was going to be tough and sadly it has been. I’d forgotten how long it takes for him to adjust to a new routine, new people and new places, and he’s had to do it all at once.

Kike and I are more than used to “I’m not going to school,” but this has been different.

It started with the same pattern of him putting up a small protest but settling on his fate quite quickly and then skipping off to school. As the days continued, I think he realised that nursery had finished and this was his new classroom, and it became harder to calm him.

He’s been crying a lot, repeating the same phrase over and over, “I love you, I love you,” and pulling at his nails until they bleed, which makes him cry again.

I’ve noticed that his stimming has gone into overdrive. He’s making exaggerated facial expressions, beeping noises and doing a lot of running, jumping and spinning. When we’re out of the house going for a walk, he is almost completely non-verbal, living in his own little world.

Kike and I try our best to gently bring him out of it. Today, on the way home, Kike managed to get him to tell his own little story (apparently Google and Youtube were fighting?) which I was really impressed with.

Over the weekend while we were walking, I asked Summer if she’d noticed any change in River over the last few weeks.

She shrugged, as usual.

“Like what?”

“Anything different? Those faces he keeps pulling, or the running in circles?”

“I guess. Why?”

“I just wanted to see if anyone else had noticed it, or if I was seeing things.”

“Do you want me to tell him to be less autistic?”

I laughed.

“NO! That’s not what I meant. I just meant he’s showing different behaviours.”

Shrug again.

“I mean, that is River. I’m sure he’s going to keep doing weird stuff.”

Yeah, she’s right.

And the three of us carried on to the pub as dictated by River.

He can be verbal when he wants to be.

No Party

I’ve been keeping the weekends very quiet because I want to give both of them time to rest after going back to school. Summer is back in her busy schedule of after-school activities and jiu-jitsu and I think anything else for River is going to tip him over the edge.

There was one day I was looking forward to though: our annual party with the support group. I wrote about it at the end of the book and we’ve been to several more since and really enjoyed them as a family.

They were both excited to go, so I guess I went in unprepared.

I made a brief error on the way there so the walk was a bit longer than expected, but I assumed we’d be fine once we got in.

Nope.

I could barely get River through the door. He screamed, “NO PARTY” and threw himself to the ground. I managed to calm him and get him into the garden, where I continued to soothe him until he was calm enough to crawl under a table and wedge himself into a small space.

Kike went to get some pizza and every so often a small hand would appear from under the table, snatch a piece once it was cold enough and disappear again. Apparently he wasn’t coming to the party but he was still accepting refreshments.

I went and found Summer, who was decorating biscuits, then doing foil craft, then having her nails painted. As usual, loving the party.

I warned her that her brother wasn’t doing so well, so we might not be able to stay as long as usual. She was upset and ran off, desperate to get as much as she could before she knew we’d have to pull her away.

I briefly managed to get River into the sensory room but the entertainer was quite loud this year and, with him already being incredibly sensitive to noise at the moment, it was the last straw.

He went straight to the exit, sat down in the corridor and cried, pleading to go home.

I sat with him and promised we would leave. Kike came and found us and I had the sad task of removing Summer.

She wasn’t happy. She’d been having a brilliant time and I felt awful that, once again, she had to leave something she was enjoying because River couldn’t cope. But she didn’t argue or make a fuss, she just reluctantly gathered up her things and came with us.

We stopped in a local pub on the way back which we hadn’t been to before and it had a giant soft play, which basically made up for everything. Within five minutes Summer was running and laughing with new friends while we sat far away from the noise with our little boy, who had zoned out, happy with his juice, crisps and Roblox.

I was disappointed. This was something we’d done before, something we all enjoyed, and I think I’d assumed it would be an easy win. Instead, I was exhausted from all the soothing I’d had to do just to help him cope for 45 minutes.

Kike and I sat in silence for a while, both a bit deflated. Luckily, this new pub was quite a good people-watching place and Summer was having a brilliant time in the soft play. We ordered some food and slowly things started to feel manageable again.

The Door of Fire

Apart from his weekly swimming lesson, I’ve not attempted anything else new with him. Even swimming is now provoking tears and screams when he can’t see me, despite it only being 30 minutes and him being able to see me for the majority of the time.

His restart at after-school club has also been quite a battle.

The first time, it wasn’t communicated properly that River needs to go before the other children are collected. If he sees other parents, it’s game over. He needed to be carried out screaming and cried for the entire 45 minutes until I picked him up.

The next day went a bit smoother, but they tried to take him to a new room.

Nope. Tears again.

The next day, they had to take him through a new door.

This door had a sign on it:

‘Fire Door’.

He refused to go through it because it was a fire door and he might get burnt.

The curse of being able to read.

The team have been absolutely amazing and we are so lucky that River has adults who truly care about him and are willing not to give up.

By the end of the week, he walked (was not carried) through the Door of Fire and into the hall.

Not the new room, but come on, he’s made progress.

He played happily with the marble run, ate three rice cakes and came running out happy when I collected him.

He’ll be OK. The after-school club is the same and he’s slowly realising it. He loves it and knows the people there keep him safe.

I think it’s just going to take a little longer with school.

He Just Needs Time

So, all of this could probably be contributing to my tiredness.

You just want your child to be happy, don’t you? But I know that’s not always possible. River is learning to deal with change even though it’s hard, and we’re learning more about what it looks like when he’s going through it.

The scary part is that I don’t always know what to do or what’s for the best. We never had any of this with Summer.

Our current plan is to keep as much of the rest of his life the same as possible so he’s only dealing with major change in one place. We keep reassuring him that we love him and that we will always come and collect him from school.

He needs a few more cuddles, which isn’t exactly a hardship, although the 1am ones could begin to be.

And most importantly of all, I’m planning the best Halloween ever!

If you’re reading this while struggling with your own child starting school, know that you’re not alone. I’ve been a teacher for nearly 20 years and I’ve watched so many children struggle with their first few weeks.

I’ve pulled children off their parents and stood in doorways as they’ve screamed and kicked trying to get out, only to see them settle and be playing five minutes later. I’ve taken the photo or made the phone call to reassure a parent that their child is indeed fine, but will probably burst into tears the minute they see them again.

I’ve spent years being the teacher telling parents that sometimes children just need time to adjust.

It feels very different when it’s your own child.

So perhaps I need to listen to some of the advice I’ve given all those parents over the years. River has had a huge amount of change in a very short space of time. He’s showing us that he’s finding it hard, but he’s also showing us little signs that he’s getting there.

He walked through the terrifying Fire Door and today when I asked if he’d had a good day he quietly mumbled yes.

Sometimes little children have big emotions and, if there’s one thing I know about River, his emotions are huge.

He just needs time.

And maybe I do too.