It seemed strange to hear this phrase; I just had one child and didn't think that I was too overwhelmed by my situation but I continued to hear the phrase over and over again. You've got your hands full has become a phrase that has been the song of my life; its my intention to sing this song in words for you.
Ethan is my firstborn, an adorable little boy with a cowlick that swirls on the right side of his forehead. He would cry like a wolf at the fullest of moons whenever he was overstimulated, which was quick and often, the only way to console him was to place him in his pumpkin seat with a 2 pound buckwheat hull pillow on his tummy. His cries were so intense that a trip to the store meant earplugs for me and a baker's dozen you've got your hands full.
Once we discovered his sensitivity to stimulus we were able to work with nursery staff and others to keep him calm, but before long we were looking at crawling and walking and talking and his very first birthday. Oh the joys of that first cake and digging in with your bare hands scooping cake into your mouth like the finest of bulldozer buckets; not for this little guy.
No that first hand full of cake was me placing his hand in the cake and bringing it to his mouth only to have him scream and cry and throw his hand about wanting, hoping, praying that somehow he could shake free from this icky frosting torture to which I had thrust him.
Moments later frosting cleared from hand and fork taking up residence in its place he was thrilled to eat his birthday cake. After cake we arrived at present time and yet another interesting opportunity to engage his senses in a new and traumatizing way. The paper was too loud and crinkly and was everywhere and before we were two presents in he was out and thoroughly disturbed by the sensory input that was so outputting.
Until next time, I've got my hands full!
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