Climbing the walls

When Frances was younger, starting as a toddler, she would climb anything and everything. It was quite impressive even though it was frightening.

When I mentioned this to her wonderful doctor (a developmental paediatrician), a few years later, he asked: “Has she ever fallen?” The answer was that she had not, and still has not, ever fallen.

But I couldn’t leave her alone, even when she was six years old because, though she had never fallen, the possibility was there that she could, in fact, fall one day.

The dark humour of this story is that, whenever she bolted or wandered away from me at the park, I knew to look upwards, not just around, to find her.

She has always been in constant motion–skipping, jumping, running, twirling, spinning–this has never changed, and I honestly don’t foresee this changing.

By age 9, though she would frequently be unaware of potential dangers attending her movement and behaviour, she wasn’t really climbing as often.

The danger has been, and still is, more that she will stand with her feet at the edge of the top of the stairs facing backwards while talking or moving, or she will sit with her back flush with the edge of the high mattress, or even try to do donkey kicks on the sofa facing the ground.

Lately, however, a month-and-change away from her 11th birthday, I’m always finding her standing on high things, balancing while squatting or standing on the edges of furniture, trying to climb stair railings…

So, it’s back, folks! Climbing behaviour is back. We’ve come to accept that HF ASD for our family means that behaviours don’t always disappear forever. Some never disappear at all, such as sitting in dangerous positions, and sitting in the squatting position exclusively, but climbing will come and go. We just go with the flow.

My best guess is that the sensory input that she gets from climbing helps her in some way to cope with what goes on inside her body and mind.

The only difficulty is a practical one: she now requires even more supervision than she did last year.

I don’t mind because, as I’ve mentioned, I think it helps her cope somehow. What I do try to establish is a rule that I must be present when she climbs.

We’re working on that.

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LOLs

I’ve just come across some of my old notes of a conversation between my sister and Frances (who was 3 years old at the time) and I’m practically dying. ๐Ÿ˜‚

Pink Cup Aunt: How do you want your toast this morning?

Frances: In semicircles.

Pink Cup Aunt: I’m not sure I know how to do that.

Frances: It’s a HALF circle…

I love this vintage gem!

Um, no…But yes, absolutely

Frances: Sarcasm โ€” isnโ€™t that just lying? (Nov. 17/17)

People with ASD can experience difficulty with figurative language. What I have discovered is that “not understanding” can, in a sense, mean “just getting to the bottom line” of the matter with Frances.

Ordinarily, she has difficulty interpreting euphemisms, idioms, gestures, etc. Here, her struggle appears to concern purpose or utility: Why would one use sarcasm? Why does one, oftentimes, use sarcasm as humour? In other words, why is it considered to be funny?

It’s really amazing that, even though she struggles with non-literal language, she is very witty and understands figurative language when it is her own, when she, herself, produces it.

For example, when she was newly six years old and was feeling unwell, she once said:

I’m feeling as sick as a tornado can be loud…Is that a lot? (May 28, 2013)

Frances has always kept me on my feet — in more ways than one — and always at least one step away from knowing everything about her.

She’s absolutely fascinating — I am her mother, after all — and her ability to get straight to the heart of any matter is just one more thing that impresses me.