Escape

It never ceases to amaze me, this range of totally unveiled emotion. Of course, there's a bit of it in every child, but I can't help feeling as though with my girl it's somehow...I don't know...more.

In the span of five minutes, The Princess goes from happy to sad, angry, bored, frustrated, independent, needy, and everything in between. Absolute, unbridled joy is often followed immediately by inconsolable, blubbering, alligator-tear-streaked misery.

Her eyes give her away every time.

One look at that beautiful face, contorted in reaction to some invisible force, eyes pleading for help even though she has no words, is enough to break my heart.

I turn my head for a second, pleading with God to help me help her. When I look back, she's grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, pulling me in for a hug, eyes twinkling as though nothing ever happened to disrupt her.

And just as quickly, she's in her own world, focused completely on some seemingly mundane thing like a scrap of paper, as if it's the only thing in the entire world and deserves no less than her undivided attention.

I know from experience that this piece of paper can be the center of her universe for an hour or more if I let it. I also know that I've been told it's best to try to redirect her energy to something constructive when she starts to stim.

But somehow, I just can't bring myself to do it. At times, it seems like stimming is the only thing that allows her the opportunity to escape the constant barrage of input that sends her senses reeling so many times each day.

And so it is, from time to time, that I sit here and quietly observe. I refrain from offering an alternative, and I drink in the calm on my baby's face.

Everyone deserves an escape.