Day 7: Clothing Bothers Me
Last night, after Coleman’s bath, we went through the same
struggle we face frequently at bath time.
It’s not the bath that’s the problem – it’s getting dressed
afterwards. Clothes seem to bother
Coleman – from underwear and socks to shirts and jackets to hats and mittens – all
of it, head to toe.
At bath time, he easily lets me remove his clothes, eager to
be free of the restriction that he feels, and happily climbs into the tub. He loves the bath, talking away to himself
and rolling around in the bubbles. When
he is clean and I have washed his hair, I give him the warning that we have to
finish up and get dressed in two more minutes.
Without a fight, he takes my hand out of the tub, and I dry his warm
body off and wrap the towel around him for the walk down the hall to his room. Even the towel he dislikes, however, and I
struggle with him to keep it on down the hall.
In his room, I stretch out his clothing as much as I can without tearing
it – leg holes, socks, necklines – but against his body it still feels
wrong. He isn’t able to articulate what
feels wrong, only pleads with me to “fix it”.
So we stretch and pull some more, until we get it right. Because of this, I tend to gravitate toward
the clothes that feel good on him, the sloppy, loose old clothing – fashion
sense and adorably trendy clothing have long been abandoned in favor of these
easy-to-wear favorites. But sometimes,
even the favorites aren’t right. Like
last night.
Coleman doesn’t use the term “favorite” – I don’t even think
he even understands fully what ‘favorite’ means – but he has a yellow striped
shirt that he loves. I think it’s
because it’s soft and loose, and the sleeves are past his wrist (which he likes
because he chews on the sleeve). I know
he loves this shirt – he asks for it and he has never asked for any other item
of clothing. Last night after his bath,
I said to him “Hmmm…what shirt…” and then, with a big to-do, I announced “I
know! The yellow shirt!! Yay!” I led him to the laundry room and pulled the
yellow shirt out of the dryer like a superhero saving the day. I do this big show for both of us – I know he
loves it so he’ll be happy to see it, but also for me, because you never know
when he might decide the yellow shirt isn’t so great and it’s always good to
have an easy go-to shirt, so I’m trying to remind him ahead of time that he
loves this shirt. When he saw the shirt,
he was so happy, clapping, “Yay! The yellow shirt!” and I stretched it out a
bit, and put it on him. In just seconds,
the smile vanished and he was pulling at the neck, behind his head. “Fix it!”
I stretched it a little more back there, but still it wasn’t right. The shirt is tagless, but something was
bothering him. I tried for a while but
couldn’t get it right for him. By then,
he was upset and yelling. He went over
to Billy. “Fix it?” and so Billy tried
too. Neither of us could get it
right. He was crying, pulling at it and
at his neck. I said “Why don’t we take
it off and try a different shirt?” but he looked at me with pleading eyes, “No
the yellow shirt! Fix it?” And so we
pulled and stretched, tried taking it off and putting it back on but little
seemed to help. After 35 minutes or so, by
then teary, tired and rashy from all the pulling, we tried one final stretch,
and he announced a relieved “You did it!”
Grateful we could move on, I said “Good!
All fixed!” to which he confidently replied “You did it! All by
yourself!” (He was referring to himself.)
Many children both on and off the spectrum have tactile
issues with clothing. I remember I had
them as a child, desperately wanting everything to be loose. Emma has it a bit as well, some clothes just
plain old feel wrong. It’s easy to
underestimate the impact this can have on kids, particularly those on the
spectrum. The half hour we spent after
the tub last night is not so very unlike many other nights. Which is why I’ll share our dirty little
secret: whatever shirt I put on Coleman
for bed, is the shirt Coleman wears to school the next day. Yes, I do that. And to be honest, but for the germs I fear he
brings home with him from school, I would let him wear the same shirt all
week. Ah, the truth behind the wrinkled
shirts he wears each day. No, not too
lazy to iron. Too lazy to fight. At least it avoids one struggle for both of
us each day.
Shirts aren’t the only issue we face; there are similar trials every time he puts
on socks (we have exactly six pair he will wear, and even those don’t always
work). He hates sweatshirts and
sweaters, pulls and pulls at a collared shirt, doesn’t like hats, refuses to
wear boots, and has never worn a mitten or glove a day in his life. The frustration of dressing is exhausting to
all of us. The natural timing of these
occurrences couldn’t be more ill-placed:
either right before bed, a time at which all patience is gone, and
literally I am willing to let him sleep naked if he would just go to bed, or right
before school, a time at which I am always rushing, and literally I am willing
to let him go out the door naked if he would just go to school.
Daily dressing is not the only time reserved for such
fun. While most people enjoy seasonal
changes in the weather, Billy and I find their approach daunting – a change in season is a
change in clothing required which is never fun.
Transitions from summer to fall, fall to winter, and winter to spring all require changes layers of clothing. Which is why in late fall, when it’s quite
chilly, and the rest of the world is embracing ‘Sweatshirt Weather” you will
still see Coleman running around without so much as a long-sleeve shirt
on. And why, right about now when it
starts to get warm, Coleman will continue to wear his down jacket until it is
roughly 70 degrees outside and he can go without any coat or sweatshirt.
Despite the trials, there are lots of good days, and lots of
times without surprises. Many days are
just normal. Blessed, beautiful normal. No problem with socks, pants, shirts or jackets. And then there are upside surprises, when we fear the worst, and Coleman brings us straight up to proud. Like the time we bought his last winter
jacket. He had been wearing a red fleece
jacket – it was a good fall jacket but not nearly warm enough for New England
winters. He was little when we had
bought it, and wasn’t out in the snow playing so it worked out fine. But Coleman hadn’t grown much physically over
the years, and even as he approached his seventh birthday the size 4 fleece
jacket still fit. By that time he was
actually spending time outside, and even had started to like sledding, laughing
with the thrill of the ride downhill.
But he was sledding in sneakers (he wouldn’t wear boots), this thin
fleece jacket and no mittens. And you
couldn’t get a different jacket on him. I
would try, holding him down, squirming to the floor with him in a struggle, him
in tears, pulling and grabbing at the jacket, not able to unzip it, but able to
wriggle it off over his head. So for the
winter ahead of his seventh birthday we bought him a black down winter jacket. We hung it in the front hall and everyday as
we came down the front stairs I would say “Ohhh, I love that jacket. That’s Coley’s new jacket.” To which he would adamantly respond “NO! You
don’t want that!!!” And I would say “Oh,
yes it’s really nice. But you don’t have
to wear it today. You will wear it in 10
more days.” And we all talked about the
jacket throughout the day. Then the next
day, it was the same routine but instead adjusted to say “You will wear it in 9
more days” and so on. On the tenth
morning, I said “Yay! I love the new black jacket. Today you are going to wear your new
jacket!” And when it was time, he slid
it right on, without so much as a wiggle.
He’s worn it for two years now, and I just bought the same jacket, next
size up, so we should be good to go for another two years. Now we just need to get the boots on. J
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