I wonder sometimes why that is. Is it the sheer exhaustion that ties my tongue in knots, or how fervently I care about it all, or some days I secretly wonder if FASD isn't contagious. I know my though processing, my memory, my impulse control are all so much worse some days than others. Taking a step back from trying to explain it all and just finish the sentence I came up with these:
Parenting Kids with FASD is like...
Swimming in a blender.
Riding a roller coaster that never ends.
Being the only sane person locked in an asylum with a lunatic in charge.
Jogging through knee deep peanut butter.
Rollerskating down (and back up) the hills of San Francisco during an ice storm.
Trying to learn how to land a plane before the fuel runs out, from someone who only speaks Mandarin with controls all labeled in Cyrillic.
Living the very best and the very worst day of your life at exactly the same time – over and over again - every day.I'm still not satisfied that I've nailed it but there you go - it gives you an idea.