TKO. Autism For the Win.

This past week has tested every thread of my being. I'm not sure if Max is coming down with something, is bummed that summer (what we had of it) is over, or is just acting like a three year old, but his behaviour has been off the charts. And not off the charts in a good way. Off the charts in a way that makes you want to scream "Okay Autism, I get it. Uncle. You are stronger than me. You win. I give up!". But that isn't an option, so you lick your wounds, gather your strength, and live to see another day, another battle.

If I had to describe Autism, I'd say Autism is a Mixed Martial Arts fighter, straight out of the UFC. Autism will kick you when you're down and thinks nothing about punching you in the back - right in the kidneys. I've been fighting this way too much by the books, more like an amateur boxer in the Olympics. I've been playing "nice", following the rules, and I keep getting surprised by the low blows. I have to remember that Autism takes no prisoners. Autism will trip me, spit on me, break my arm even after I tap out, and most of all, Autism seemingly never sleeps.

Sleep is my achilles heal, and Autism knows this. When Max doesn't sleep, he's off the walls, and I am left without the strength to manage him, to cope. Add to that a baby who needs me too, a full-time job, and a husband who is also worn out from being in the ring fighting Autism with me, and you have one beat down Katrina, who this week, was left cowering in the corner, my face a pulpy mess.

So, what to do? Try to get some sleep. Then gather my stamina, bring in the big guns, and pray that this next week I am stronger than Autism. After all, I can fight dirty too.