You might be the parent of a child with SPD if….
The list you leave the babysitter is longer and more detailed than the DSM-5 (which you are eagerly awaiting). And that’s just to go to the grocery store for an hour.
You know how to pronounce the words proprioception, vestibular, and interoception. And you even know what they mean.
The neighbors think a trapeze artist lives in your house. You don’t tell them it’s really a therapy swing, a trampoline, and a scooter board. .
You have a secret closet full of bubble wrap, play-dough, goop, 5 kinds of silly putty, moon dough, sand dough, and silly foam. It also contains a bucket of rice, a bucket of beans, and 13 different kinds of dried pasta.
You actually like it when your child plays with his/her food.
You finger-paint with pudding, mashed potatoes, and pretzel sticks.
You brush your kids more regularly than you brush the dog.
The world stops at 6:15pm because the bedtime routine takes 3 hours. If something goes wrong, you have to start over.
You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night.
You wake up in the morning just as tired as when you went to bed.
You can sleep anytime, anywhere. Especially in the therapy waiting room.
Your child wears more expensive, softer, better made clothes than you do. And you’re just happy to find clothes without tags, seems, or silk screening.
You buy toys in triplicate because the world would come to an end if the wrong one went missing.
You spend more time with your child’s therapist then you do with your spouse.
You can’t afford a college savings account for your child because you just put your child’s therapist’s children through college.
You know where to get the best deal on size 7 pull-ups.
You know which public bathrooms have automatic flushing toilets and hand dryers and which ones are ‘safe.’
You can’t remember what the beach, the inside of a movie theater, or the seats of an airplane look like, but you know every piece of equipment at the OT office. And how to use it.
You don’t think twice about cutting the crusts off you child’s bread. And yours, too. It’s better than the meltdown that happens when you don’t.
You never have to write out a grocery list because it’s exactly the same every single week.
You’re bruised and battered. Because most of the time, you are the crash pillow.
You have stock in Handi-Wipes.
Your friends think you’ve gone off the deep end.
The entire PTA thinks you are just being over-protective.
The IEP team is afraid of you.
You have your child’s principal on speed dial.
You’ve actually called up a division of Proctor and Gamble and begged them not to change the scent or formula of your child’s favorite shampoo or bodywash. Then you quickly run to Target to buy every last bottle.
You need a U-Haul to go away for the weekend. Because you have to bring the swing, the scooter, the trampoline, and just the right bed.
You celebrate the important milestones…. walking barefoot in the grass, eating a mixed texture, and trying on a new pair of shoes.
You second guess everything you do.
Your child has no prognosis, because medically, there is no disorder. Yet.
You have the best, most special kid in the whole wide world and you wouldn’t trade him or her for anything. . .