Although the uneven developmental progress of my child with Asperger’s Syndrome is often discouraging and confusing, there are also times when I actually find it a source of amusement and amazement. I am especially intrigued and amused by the dramatic difference in maturity levels that can be seen in a single child on the autism spectrum within a very short period of time.
This week presented me with a funny (to me at least) example of developmental contradiction in a single child. On Sunday Cricket and I left church early. He has a hard time staying for the last hour, when he’s in with a pile of other kids who insist on singing together a lot (which he finds physically painful). So some Sundays we come home early, after the second hour, and read some religiously educational materials instead. This Sunday as Cricket and I walked home we were discussing how he only has a year left of Primary (the children’s organization in the church) and then, at age 12, he will move on to the Young Men’s program (therefore no more “Sharing Time” torment) and will be eligible to be ordained as a deacon if the bishop believes he is ready. This developed, as we walked, into a fairly deep discussion of the duties and responsibilities of priesthood holders, opportunities for service and leadership within the priesthood, structure and organization of the priesthood, and various other related topics. Cricket asked insightful questions and engaged in the discussion at a level well beyond his 11 years (at least judging by the other kids I know who are his age, including the Primary class I teach who are only a year younger than he). I was quite impressed with his maturity and insight.
Then, first thing Monday morning I came downstairs to find that Cricket had dragged a comforter from his bed downstairs, spread it out on the floor, and peopled the edges of it with stuffed animals. He was flopped in the center of the blanket playing with some items from the bin of real, genuine baby toys that I keep around in case of little visitors. It was infant “tummy time” in all its glory! And it was such a stark contrast with the mature young man of the day before that I had to go back up the stairs and have a good laugh in private.
In the last couple of years I’ve attended some seminars in which the presenter described and promoted the “DIR” approach to treating children with autism. DIR stands for Developmental, Individual-difference, and Relationship-based. (More info here.) In the seminars child development was likened to a tree, with roots, stem, and branches. The roots are the channels through which the child receives sensory information from his environment (and all learning takes place through the senses). The soil is the environment. When the tree’s root system (aka nervous system) is not “normal”, it affects the growth of the trunk and the branches, which represent developmental progress as measured by specific behaviors. This is a way of visualizing the developmental differences in our autism spectrum children. Their “trunks” may be shorter on one side than the other, they may be gnarled, knotted and curved, or may even have some odd holes in various parts of the trunk or branches. Some parts of the tree may grow more quickly than normal in order to compensate for weaknesses or delays in other portions of the tree.
As parents of a child whose nervous system works differently than most people’s, we can’t control the structure or functioning of the “roots” themselves, but we can influence the growth of the “tree” by altering the environment through which the child absorbs information and “enrich the soil” with experiences that will be compatible with the child’s unique neurological differences and lead to improved development. The presenter discussed the importance of being aware of “normal” developmental progression so we can better understand where our children are, developmentally speaking, or what the “tree” of our child might look like, so we can understand what kinds of activies or exercises would be most beneficial to the child. One interesting point that was made was that often children who are developmentally different can benefit from sort of going back and ‘filling in’ some of their developmental ‘holes’ by engaging in the kinds of activities that normally result in development in those weaker areas–in other words, by letting them act, and treating them, like much younger children some of the time. In other words, meet them where they are, developmentally speaking, and try to draw them forward, rather than merely instructing them in how to mimic more developmentally advanced behavior.
For example, if a child learned to speak unusually early, but has deficits in nonverbal communication such as facial expressions, body language, and gestures, this might be a child who sort of skipped over an important preverbal stage of development in communication. This child might benefit from activities in which he needs to practice his nonverbal communication, such as a game in which for ten minutes you and he communicate everything without words–while engaging in an activity that normally requires speech such as playing a board game or building a lego project together.
I have noticed recently that Cricket has begun spontaneously practicing some of these specific developmental behaviors that should address some of his own deficits. I find this facinating. For example, one day during school he kept pointing and grunting instead of asking for what he wanted–tape, markers, scissors–or just getting it himself. I asked him what was up with that, and he informed me, sotto voce out of the corner of his mouth, that he had decided to see if he could tell me what he wanted without using words. Since he does have some nonverbal communication deficits, this was actually a great “therapy” activity for him and I was surprised and impressed that he’d just come up with the idea on his own, as I had not yet initiated this kind of therapy play with him. He did a fairly reasonable job, though a couple of times he needed some suggestions about how to tell me something (ex. maybe you could pantomime what it is you want me to do for you).
I am also intrigued by his “tummy time” choice on Monday. When he was a wee little snippet tummy time was an issue. I was pretty careful to make sure he got some, and built up his little muscles and whatnot, but he had ISSUES with tummy time. Looking back I can see that they were very much the sensory and anxiety issues we’ve come to know and love (ha ha) in the years since. At the time, though, it was puzzling. As a baby Cricket wanted–no NEEDED–to be held. All the time. But NOT cuddled. HATED that. He was fine on a blanket on the floor, as long as I was there too, down on the floor with him, interacting with him. If I got up and walked away, even a few steps across the room, he would panic and start screaming (and I do mean screaming, not fussing or crying) and smashing his poor little head against the floor. HARD! The house we were living in at the time didn’t have carpeting, just hardwood floors and vinyl, so the blows were not very well cushioned. And even on an area rug and several layers of blankets his little head made the most awful thunks! If I needed both hands for a job like dishes or folding laundry, I couldn’t put him on a blanket on the floor near me and let him just play, because he wouldn’t play–he’d scream and bash himself. So for those times he sat in his little car seat while I chatted at him and did whatever needed doing. What’s that you say? Just fold the laundry while he naps? OH! Excellent plan! Only one problem. No naps. Did I mention that he stopped napping about the time he started sleeping through the night? The child gets by on an abnormally small amount of sleep. Always has. And no, changing his bedtime does not make him sleep more. His anxiety meds do extend his night a little, for which I am grateful. Aaaah! Sweet slumber!
But I digress.
And I’m out of time.
But this uneven development is crazy stuff, dude!
