Me as a Child...
May. 24th, 2005 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
conulyHeh. Oh, this'll be fun.
When I was born, my mom decided (and never told me! Gah! Well, not for a while) that I must be autistic because I wouldn't look at her and clearly didn't like being held.
When I was a baby, I couldn't sleep with anything in my crib - not a toy, not a pillow, not a sheet. (I also couldn't wear diapers much of the time because I'd rash up, and a lot of fabrics rashed me up that were not of the diaper variety.)
I was reading by the time we got to New York, whenever that was. I've got pictures, too. In one of them, I actually don't believe that's me, because even though we're clearly in our Brooklyn apartment, I don't look like a four or five or six year old, I look nine at least. Scary.
When I was two or three, I toppled a bunch of pennies my mom had stacked all over the living room floor. Hey, as far as I knew, they were stacked just for that purpose. This was in Louisiana.
When I was six, I knew how to skate. You know how people "never forget" how to skate? I forgot. I used to be a lot more outgoing, I think. I used to go up to adults in the rink and harass them until they let me teach them how to move on the ice without holding on to the wall.
I used to have a lot of meltdowns. I can imagine that this scared my family. It scared me. You try being completely out of your own control, see how you like it. My mom used to hold me down. I understand why (did they really want me throwing stuff with my bad aim?) but I'm not sure she realized how much that terrified me. I have a vague idea that I once bit hard enough to draw blood - if that's true, that's the time my mom covered my mouth. I take no responsibility for this event, given that I thought I couldn't breathe.
I went through early puberty. Or somewhat early puberty. I lost inches off my adult height, so annoying.
My parents tried to get a diagnosis for me when I was growing up, but they couldn't. Or they couldn't get a good diagnosis, anyway. Not of early puberty, of autism. Asperger's, they didn't know that then.
Apparently, my behaviour during school got them a lot of calls home. I honestly can't think what prompted these calls. No, really. As far as I can remember, I just shut down as much as possible during school and read under my desk.
I broke my mom's nose when I was, what, 13? This was an accident. My mom tried to tickle me from behind, while I was reading. I didn't know she was there, she forgot all about this little thing I like to call a startle reflex (forgot, my ass, she thought it was funny...) and I got her in the nose with the back of my head. That really hurt, though she probably hurt a bit more. I alternate between feeling bad about this and figuring that she should've known better. It's not like I meant to jump up.
I used to think that the people on book covers were going to come alive and kill me.
My favorite game-by-myself growing up really did center around organizing various toys. No, really. My next favorite centered around being outside and playing that the plants were... well, still plants, but other things as well, like food or clothes for fairysized people. Fairy like Disney, not fairy like Tam Lyn.
My favorite game-with-other-people was probably The Foot Game, where you step (lightly!) on somebody else's foot and count up the points. I always lose this game. Can't wait to teach it to Ana.
Jenn (Ginger) and I had three beds between the two of us, and yet I would most often end up snuggled with her at bedtime.
If I called her Jenn back then, she got mad. My, how times have changed.
Jenn and Mommy were never, I think, as into holidays as Daddy (and apparently I) were. I miss that.
We used to go to Belgium during the summer. Every year, I got attacked by the stinging nettles. That really hurts.
My Bonnemaman utilized a flyswatter with great care. I don't recall this as being much more effective than "because I said so".
I really should've had short hair all growing up. It wouldn't've tangled as much.
When I was three, I was almost killed by fire ants. No, really. Those things are evil.
I read the Little Princess so many times, I used to have huge swaths of it memorized.
I was shocked to find out that I couldn't write. I was also shocked to find out that I had to be put in my own special reading group in the first grade.
Clothing tags are evil. Is there some reason they can't be on normal cloth?
This is all rather disjointed. I'm sorry.
When I was born, my mom decided (and never told me! Gah! Well, not for a while) that I must be autistic because I wouldn't look at her and clearly didn't like being held.
When I was a baby, I couldn't sleep with anything in my crib - not a toy, not a pillow, not a sheet. (I also couldn't wear diapers much of the time because I'd rash up, and a lot of fabrics rashed me up that were not of the diaper variety.)
I was reading by the time we got to New York, whenever that was. I've got pictures, too. In one of them, I actually don't believe that's me, because even though we're clearly in our Brooklyn apartment, I don't look like a four or five or six year old, I look nine at least. Scary.
When I was two or three, I toppled a bunch of pennies my mom had stacked all over the living room floor. Hey, as far as I knew, they were stacked just for that purpose. This was in Louisiana.
When I was six, I knew how to skate. You know how people "never forget" how to skate? I forgot. I used to be a lot more outgoing, I think. I used to go up to adults in the rink and harass them until they let me teach them how to move on the ice without holding on to the wall.
I used to have a lot of meltdowns. I can imagine that this scared my family. It scared me. You try being completely out of your own control, see how you like it. My mom used to hold me down. I understand why (did they really want me throwing stuff with my bad aim?) but I'm not sure she realized how much that terrified me. I have a vague idea that I once bit hard enough to draw blood - if that's true, that's the time my mom covered my mouth. I take no responsibility for this event, given that I thought I couldn't breathe.
I went through early puberty. Or somewhat early puberty. I lost inches off my adult height, so annoying.
My parents tried to get a diagnosis for me when I was growing up, but they couldn't. Or they couldn't get a good diagnosis, anyway. Not of early puberty, of autism. Asperger's, they didn't know that then.
Apparently, my behaviour during school got them a lot of calls home. I honestly can't think what prompted these calls. No, really. As far as I can remember, I just shut down as much as possible during school and read under my desk.
I broke my mom's nose when I was, what, 13? This was an accident. My mom tried to tickle me from behind, while I was reading. I didn't know she was there, she forgot all about this little thing I like to call a startle reflex (forgot, my ass, she thought it was funny...) and I got her in the nose with the back of my head. That really hurt, though she probably hurt a bit more. I alternate between feeling bad about this and figuring that she should've known better. It's not like I meant to jump up.
I used to think that the people on book covers were going to come alive and kill me.
My favorite game-by-myself growing up really did center around organizing various toys. No, really. My next favorite centered around being outside and playing that the plants were... well, still plants, but other things as well, like food or clothes for fairysized people. Fairy like Disney, not fairy like Tam Lyn.
My favorite game-with-other-people was probably The Foot Game, where you step (lightly!) on somebody else's foot and count up the points. I always lose this game. Can't wait to teach it to Ana.
Jenn (Ginger) and I had three beds between the two of us, and yet I would most often end up snuggled with her at bedtime.
If I called her Jenn back then, she got mad. My, how times have changed.
Jenn and Mommy were never, I think, as into holidays as Daddy (and apparently I) were. I miss that.
We used to go to Belgium during the summer. Every year, I got attacked by the stinging nettles. That really hurts.
My Bonnemaman utilized a flyswatter with great care. I don't recall this as being much more effective than "because I said so".
I really should've had short hair all growing up. It wouldn't've tangled as much.
When I was three, I was almost killed by fire ants. No, really. Those things are evil.
I read the Little Princess so many times, I used to have huge swaths of it memorized.
I was shocked to find out that I couldn't write. I was also shocked to find out that I had to be put in my own special reading group in the first grade.
Clothing tags are evil. Is there some reason they can't be on normal cloth?
This is all rather disjointed. I'm sorry.
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no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 06:56 pm (UTC)I know exactly what you mean.
I meticulously remove the tags from every piece of clothing I own as soon as I bring it home (or, if it's a gift, as soon as I confirm that it fits me). If it's stitched in with its own piece of thread (and not stitched into a seam) I'll pull the thread out so there's no trace of the tag left; otherwise, I'll use nail scissors to cut as close to the seam as I can. If I can, I'll pull the rest of the tag out one thread at a time.
This habit has lead to a lot of frustration. For one thing, I have a terrible time remembering what size I am in jeans, because there are never tags to check when I want to buy more. Also, it becomes a problem when I need to wash something and I can't remember if it's dry-clean-only.
I also have a few pairs of underwear that I'll only wear inside-out so the seams don't dig in.
Another weird clothing quirk - I *hate* three-quarter-length sleeves. Can't wear them. *shudders*
I also can't wear tube socks.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 07:24 pm (UTC)