All the Sens(ori)es

Before I move on to Eli’s toughest school year yet, I wanted to talk about some of the sensory preferences and autism characteristics we started noticing almost immediately from birth. Mostly because the next post is kind of a lot for me, and I wanted something light and fun first. So, less-go:

Eli has never slept. Never, ever in this child’s existence on this big, beautiful planet has he consistently slept through the night. A random night or two here and there—just enough to catch our attention—only for the rug to get pulled out the very next night. I learned not to get my hopes up when he was still just a tiny tot.

We tried all the things over the years, but the only consistent thing about his sleep is that nothing changed. So we finally gave up. He never seemed overtired, and when he was, he napped well. He got the sleep his little body needed, and I made peace with that. One less daily worry — check!

Fast-forward a decade and we learn that over 80% of autistic individuals struggle with insomnia and other sleep problems. Interested in learning more? Check out this journal article on sleep and autism from FOCUS: The Journal of Lifelong Learning in Psychiatry.

There is not enough time or space on a page to accurately capture the number of belly laughs Eli’s acute sense of smell has brought us, so here are some of my favorites from the jar. Enjoy!

Eli would gag during diaper changes, and eventually (during and after potty training), we started hearing him gagging from the other side of the bathroom door.

One of the first phrases he mastered was, “What dat ’mell?” We heard it every. single. day. Everyone who knew Eli at that age can still ask him, “Eli! What dat ’mell?” And he still cracks up. He now nails the “th” and “s” sounds—but the question lives on.

He still leaves the room when we feed the dogs. Beeline to the nearest exit. 100% accuracy.

He can still smell a sweet treat from a mile away; however, he has thankfully stopped trying to pry our mouths open—eyeballs basically resting on our chin—while asking, “What’chu got’chore mouff?!?”

He will be the first (and loudest) to inform you if your breath is questionable. From across the room. And if he loves you enough? Expect the stiff arm + hand-over-your-mouth combo while screaming, “UGH! YOUR BREATH!”. All with love… of course.

From his very first boo-boo (a teensy scratch) to the present day, Eli has always been super sensitive to pain. At first, I thought he was just a big ole weenie with a low pain tolerance. But the more research I did, the more I learned about differences in pain perception among autistic individuals.

Like everything else on the spectrum, pain perception varies widely. You might see a kid like Eli, who literally walks around with his injured finger wrapped in six layers of paper towels, arm held at a perfect 90 degrees, fingers splayed, maintaining impeccable social distance to prevent any accidental grazing of his paper cut, mosquito bite, or barely-there scratch. Bathing? Absolutely not. Water = OUCH. Obviously.

Then—because autism is nothing if not paradoxical—you might see another autistic kiddo outside barefoot, step on a tack that’s been baking in the southern summer heat, and not even flinch.

Here’s a great read on autism and pain perception if you want to dive deeper.

Eli has ripped every tag out of every article of clothing since he first figured out how to rid himself of those pesky, itch-inducing, razor-sharp demons.

No pool/ puddle/ tub of water (often fully clothed), toilet, light switch, faucet, doorknob, or cabinet was safe with little E toddling around. He could flick a switch on and off, open and close a door, or bang a cabinet repeatedly for as long as you’d let him.

And last (for now), but certainly not least: the water obsession!
As a toddler, if there was a faucet within reach, it had to be turned on immediately. Once, we were dining outside on a lovely spring day when we glanced over just in time to catch the entertainment: Eli, bent at the waist, one foot dangling in the air – the other planted firmly on the ledge, head tilted sideways, tongue out wide… lapping water out of a BIRD FOUNTAIN.

Receipts below. You’re welcome.

Anywho — I figured you could use a good chuckle to start your week and a little breather before we dive deep into 3rd grade hell.

Susan