Mother's Halo

I got punched in the nose this morning and wanted to tell someone who would sympathize. When I tell my family I get met with blank stares. It's kind of amazing to me that my husband can be getting ready for work and (I'm assuming), in earshot of my son flailing and banging his head and does not come to my rescue. He's just used to me handling this--a 114 pound boy who is strong enough to cover his body with bruises with his punches. Maybe he's as numb and in denial as I am--that this will get better, not worse, as our son gets bigger. To his credit, he was in the shower and might not have heard. And a few weeks ago when my son got me in the nose with the back of his head and I thought it was broken and I called my husband at work, through uncontrollable sobs, he came right home.  At least this morning it was a fist, not a head, that got me in the nose, and I was in the cross-fire as my son was trying to punch himself in the face, not me. To add to the joy of this morning, in my anxiety to get my son to the bus, which was already waiting outside, I forgot to take the "Fun Noodle" off my head, which I had fashioned into something I like to call "Mother's Halo" to give me some cushioning when I'm bending over and getting my son dressed in case he decides to head-butt me. It's actually incredibly useful--it doesn't completely protect me but it makes me feel a lot safer when my head is near his. The scene you would have seen if you had been peeking through my kitchen window this morning was actually pretty funny. To get him calm (his proprioceptive system is way out of whack in the morning) I had put the dustbuster on my son's lap, the electric toothbrush in his hand, and had the nebulizer going to give him his breathing treatment. (If the power had gone out this morning, we would have been sunk!!) He was very content sitting there, but got mad when I had to turn everything off to get him to the bus. So my nose hurts, and I'm sick of being hurt and my son hurting himself. But it's not broken, or even bleeding. The bus driver got to see an ingenius, inexpensive tool that cost less than a dollar, that perhaps he will be able to share with a family member who cares for someone with autism. My son is on the bus on the way to school, after a four day weekend and two asthma sick days. He is healthy and I am alone in the house, finally, after six days (but who's counting?!!). My husband just sent me a very sweet text message. And with the orange ring on my head and dressed in my fuzzy bathrobe this morning, I got to be among the likes of Professor Trelawney.