I love your brain

This morning Cole had a strange reaction to our discussing two upcoming parties we’ve been invited that somewhat conflict, more like overlap, and as he grew more and more upset, I was both struck by how ridiculous his reaction was and by how poorly my every attempt to calm him down. There’s nothing worse than starting the day off with tears and confusion.

It’s one of those times when I’m reminded of how hard it must be for him not to be able to express himself adequately, and how hard it is for my husband and I to always guess correctly. There’s so much assuming when dealing with Cole and his communication. In the instance this morning, I think he must have misheard, or jumped to a conclusion in what he heard, which upset him, and from that point he was fully committed to his reaction.

Honestly, I cannot imagine not having the ability to talk. I talk to myself. I talk to Cole incessantly – a habit I developed when he was young. I talk. As a kid, my parents joked that if we went on a long road trip, they could literally just sit back and I’d talk continuously throughout the whole journey, however long it may have been, often without noticing that no one else was joining in. My brother would immediately fall asleep, and I rambled.

It pains me to know that more often than I’d like to think, we’re missing the real point of what Cole is feeling, wanting, or trying to communicate. It also saddens me that he cannot always communicate a question to clarify something, or that we cannot adequately suppose that there is a misunderstanding or confusion. Even with the support of his communication device, it can be difficult for him to clarify his understanding or needs.

And of course, I constantly wonder what’s going on that beautiful brain of his. His inability to verbalize or vocalize his thoughts has no bearing on the thoughts running through his head. If I could have a super power, it would be to read minds, more specifically, to read his mind.