Conor, Can You Hear Me Now?

I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to take care of Conor.  Being his 1:1 can be fun and I love being with him when he’s happy, but it also can be boring, repetitive, and difficult.


To help me be more alert and involved (and less emotional), I now pretend that I’m Conor’s Clinical Assistant.  I have to carry around the token boards anyway, might as well. 

The therapist at KKI quite nicely provided a carabiner so that I can wear the token boards on my belt or hook it onto a pocket.  I keep his request book in a central place so he can run and get it if he starts pelting me with requests.

What I have to tell you now is very embarrassing. (I can't believe I'm even telling you this.)

While I’m being Conor’s CA, I have started yelling at Conor.  But not yelling as in “you’ve done something wrong and I’m angry.”  (Lord, no, that would be bad.)

Ok, deep breath.  Here it goes.

I’ve become that little old lady who tries to converse with a non-English speaker and thinks talking louder will make him understand me more.

“CONOR, YOU’RE DOING GREAT, YOU’RE ON LEVEL THREE!!! WAY TO GO BUDDY!  (insert high five)  LET’S GO PICK AN ACTIVITY OUT OF THE BOX THAT’S SOOOOO MUCH FUN TO DO, ALL RIGHT!” (fake smile)

I have no idea why I do this.  I try hard not to.  But it’s similar to when I feed a baby.  Every time I offer up the spoonful of pureed food to the baby's mouth, my mouth opens.  When the baby eats the food off the spoon, my mouth closes.

Open. Close. Open. Close.  I’m like a guppy, for god’s sake.

Luckily for me, the only person laughing at with me as I speak loudly to Conor is my husband. And he's been laughing at me for various reasons over the last seventeen years, so I'm  used to that.


"CONOR, COME SET THE TABLE AND THEN YOU CAN BOUNCE THE BALL FOR TEN MINUTES. AWESOME JOB, KID, AWESOME!!!!! YOU ROCK!!!!!!!!"