Where the Wild Things Are

Tonight was unbelievable. Ian was convinced he could not take a bath in his own tub because there were monsters in it. Neither Steve nor I could convince him that his imagination had gotten the best of him.

First he was afraid and didn't know why. Then he said there was a tarantula in the tub. Then all different monsters. We offered to sit next to the tub, we offered to get in the tub, we offered to put the dog in the tub with him (Sugar wasn't thrilled with that idea at all).

Steve: Ian, I'll be right here with you. No monsters can bother you.

Ian: Daaaad, that won't work because the monsters will just ignore you and bite me instead.

At this point we had been negotiating the bath for over 30 minutes. Way too long. The time for understanding had past and it was time to put an end to the ridiculous. Ian was unwilling to compromise, and our well of creative solutions had gone dry. So, Steve helped Ian brush his teeth and put him to bed.

I went in a while later to check on him. I explained how we try to understand about his fears, but when we can't see what is bothering him, it makes it difficult for us to help. Would it help him, I asked, if he had someone other than us to talk with about the things that scare him?

Ian: "I think that would work," he said quietly, somewhat hopefully.

Relief. Maybe this will work after all.

Now if I can only find someone I trust with my baby, who he trusts with his innermost thoughts and fears. That's a mother's job, and it's hard to admit that I am not able to help him with some of the really difficult stuff.

When I received my degree in psychology, undergrads did not learn about Asperger's Syndrome because it had not been formally identified and named yet. Autism itself was not well understood and, therefore, was not dealt with in the classroom.

His fear of monsters at night is typical for a 6 year-old. Being worried about them most of the day is not. How do you help a kid battle something he cannot see when he truly believes it exists? Although some days are better than others, Ian usually will not look for me if he needs me and I am not in the same room with him. He puts his fingers in his ears and yells for me to come to him. He is fine once I am there; he just doesn't like to be alone.

When does fear become so irrational that one needs a professional monster-stomper to deal with it? I don't want him to think I am ignoring his problem, but is he to that point yet? Probably. Oi!