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Autism, Cerebral Palsy, and being an "Adult Baby"...#2

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As a 55 year-old, I have a "very long memory", as a person with Autism.

When I was 9 years old, my Paternal Grandmother "passed away" at age 69.

Of my 2 Grandmothers, she was the one I was most cognitively/emotionally closest to.

She was the one who in very early childhood, "taught me to read".

I was never cognitively/emotionally close to my Maternal Grandmother. She never much wanted to be around me.

In fact, my Maternal Grandmother and her Daughter, my Mother were always "at each others throats" cognitively/emotionally, and I and "both" of my younger brothers were "stuck in the middle", wishing they would just "stop their decades-long war of wills" with each other.

The way it was, my Maternal Grandmother "loved her Youngest Daughter and her family more than us".

I can say in 20/20 "hindsight", that my Maternal Grandmother "knew all along" that the 2nd of her 3 Daughters, my Mother was "seriously mentally ill", even before she ever met, sated, and then married my Father.

For a few years, from the mid-1950's, up until the death of my Paternal Grandmother, my Mother, with the exception of when the older of my 2 younger brothers passed-away, "seemed" to be able to "mentally hold herself together".

Well, actually, my Mother really was not holding herself together.

She did have "breakdowns", and I was a first-hand witness to the "real" Mother, not the "facade she presented to the world" and to her husband, my Father.

My youngest and still living brother not long after our Father passed-away on Ash Wednesday in 2011, a few days after my 53rd Birthday asked me a question about our late Mother, who passed-away on Palm Sunday in 2008:

"What was it like for you to be Toilet-Trained?"

My brother knew for years about my "Adult Baby" behavior, and for him it was disturbing, and at the same time "understandable", given the "living hell" of our collective childhood together and our adulthood, which was filled with "being Mental Hospital Orderlies" here at home, instead of going out into the world and establishing Electronics Engineer Careers and dating, marriage, and establishing "families of our own".

My "earliest" memories of my "toilet training" come from the aftermath of my older younger brother's tragic death in infancy.

I had a "wooden" potty chair, with a little plastic pail underneath, and there was a plastic thing snapped onto the edge of the potty chair hole which I sprayed my pee-pee onto and it ran into the little plastic pail under the seat. My potty chair had a snap-on "wrap-around" spill-proof "baby tray".

While Father was away at work, I remember spending "hours and hours", physically restrained (tied down with a belt strap) in my potty chair by my Mother, with my play clothes and my plastic cotton-lined "training pants" pulled-down around my ankles.

Tied down "helpless" on my potty, Mother kept my plush lovables "out of reach" as punishment to make me be "clean and dry".

I remember her yelling at me, if I "did not wipe my poo-poo off my tushie correctly".

Mother also slapped me if she saw "natural" vascular enlargements of wee-wee which is "totally normal for boys".
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