by James Reid
“Jamie had three shirts ironed for today… in case he dribbles!” That was said by my best man in his speech on my wedding day. To those familiar with dyspraxia (developmental coordination disorder) this will not sound unusual. For those that aren’t, dyspraxia is a neurodevelopmental disability that impacts coordination, spatial awareness, fine motor control and cognitive processing. Obvious signs are clumsiness, poor balance, terrible handwriting and sometimes difficulty speaking or eating. Less obvious ones are poor short-term memory, difficulty processing instructions and problems with organisation or planning.
I have been relatively lucky. I was diagnosed at around age 10 and, thanks to extremely supportive parents, schools willing to accommodate adjustments and occupational therapy, I was able to do well throughout school and university. Fellow students were usually cheerfully indifferent or politely curious, so I never experienced the horrendous bullying some people with dyspraxia do (or my social radar was too underdeveloped to notice it). I occasionally got accused of “cheating” because I got to use a computer for exams and had extra time but, when I explained the reasons, most people either accepted them or got bored and went off to do something more interesting. When I entered the workplace, employers were largely supportive of accommodations I asked for. Looking back, there are times I wish I had asked for more, but it was my job to ask, not theirs to offer.
One aspect of life education and work didn’t prepare me for was becoming a dad with dyspraxia. One of my biggest worries at the beginning was hurting the baby either by misjudging a gap and hitting them on something, dropping them or falling over while carrying them. A lot of people with dyspraxia develop lightning-quick reflexes to grab support when falling over or catch whatever they have just knocked over. Mine caught me on a few occasions. The one time I fell over with a baby in a sling, it was winter and there was thick snow. By twisting in mid-air, I was able to get beneath the baby and we both got a soft landing. Fortunately for me (although probably not my wife) both the kids were quite big babies. Their size gave an impression of robustness which put me at ease picking them up and carrying them until I developed the confidence to realise, I was actually OK at it.
Dressing and changing them was a challenge. I struggle doing things like buckles and buttons on myself so doing miniature ones on somebody else that is wriggling did not make things easier. Similarly, changing a nappy felt like trying to solve two separate Rubick’s cubes that fought back! Venues that have decent size baby changing facilities so I could spread out the stuff and have everything to hand rather than try and juggle nappies, wipes, clothes and baby will forever have a place in my heart.
As the kids have grown up and become more self-sufficient, the practical side of looking after them has become easier. School uniforms are still a bit of a pain, and zips will always be a weakness but the need for me to do things for them is decreasing and I’m getting better at it. What has become more taxing as they get older is the organisational element of parenting. I’ve always struggled with the perception of the passage of time and with the understanding of dates. Practically this means anything much beyond tomorrow is in some vague haze called “the future”. I can usually remember that the kids have events coming up (plays, parent’s evenings, etc) but won’t have a clue about the date and, even if I do remember the date, knowing that it represents next Tuesday afternoon is beyond me. Even worse is trying to marry up school term times with my work holiday calendar. If that sounds a bit dramatic, I promise you it’s not. To give you an idea, try writing a sentence in invisible ink then writing every third letter of it on the line below and it will give you an idea. Mostly my wife does the heavy-lifting when it comes to keeping track of important dates in events then I just put a note in my work calendar when I have to be somewhere (best of all it pings). The school also send out a weekly newsletter with key events and term dates so I have a second resource if needed.
Keeping track of the weekly rhythm of school is hard too. Remembering all necessary components of swim kit, PE kit, pencil case, uniform, homework, etc takes a lot of conscious effort. Even more fun is when specialist equipment like gum-shields or shin pads are needed. Here, a white board on the fridge is my friend. On Sunday evenings, you will usually see me charging round the house, draped in various bits of kit and uniform while chanting lists of what I’m still looking for. People with dyspraxia often struggle with short term memory and sequencing tasks. Lists are incredibly helpful when it comes to sequencing tasks but sometimes the only way to hold them in memory is to mutter them constantly while going through each step. I’m sure it’s obvious to those of you without dyspraxia, but small things like keeping kit bags in the utility room so kit can go straight into them, ready for the next use rather than have to be rummaged out of drawers, cupboards or their sibling’s room is a huge time saver. What also helps is the fact that the school likes them to take all their extra stuff (PE kit, swim kit, etc) in on Mondays and then it gets sent home as it’s used. One monster organisation session on a Sunday translates into an easier week rather than remembering day-by-day what’s needed.
Out of school, anticipating future needs can be difficult. Usually I adopt the mentality, “It’s better to have and not need than need and not have”. Unfortunately, this collides with two terrible words, “what if” to see me stumbling around with a bag full of waterproofs, drinks bottles, wipes, hand sanitisers, snacks, binoculars (you never know) and a whole lot of other stuff. Normally I still forget something we need. My car is also always packed with a torch, a multitool, plasters, pain killers and a blanket. I’ve only used these a handful of times but in my mind, that justifies carting them around.
What can me much tricker is coping with sensory overload. Dyspraxic brains tend to struggle to process and prioritise multiple sensory inputs leading to spiking stress levels and overwhelm. In my case, I struggle particularly with sound especially when there are lots of different sounds at different volumes. Put me in a crowded, noisy environment like a group of people in a pub all having different conversations and I’m lost. I can’t focus in on what just one person is saying. Kids aren’t innately quiet (nor should they be) but translate that into an environment where the TV is on, the dog is barking and three separate conversations all happening over each other and my stress levels soar while my ability to regulate them plummets. These are the times I find most challenging as the noisier situations often need the most input from me. Nose cancelling ear plugs can help, especially in situation like long car journeys. At other times I have fallen back on the “Thundering dad voice” to break the escalating noise loop. Sometimes, when even that doesn’t work, I have to follow in the footsteps of Chuck Norris and count to infinity… twice!
So far I have reeled off a list of challenges but, in some ways, dyspraxia has its advantages when it comes to parenting. I have been aware of my limitations for 30 years now and spent most of that time developing strategies to mitigate them. Parenting undoubtedly comes with its own set of challenges, so having a tried and tested framework to address them makes finding solutions much more straight forward. Where finding a clever way round problems isn’t possible, I know I have the blunt determination to achieve goals anyway. I’ll never be able to do intricate needlepoint but over time, I’ve learned to do a number of things that are particularly challenging for people with dyspraxia like drive, become very competent in a number of sports and even developed handwriting which is half-way legible. I will not be defeated by a nappy!
More relevant to parenting specifically, being clumsy even in adulthood has given me much greater patience with the kids when they knock stuff over, spill things or break things. Sometimes it’s careless, mostly it’s not and I understand what it’s like to be so focussed on one task, you forget where your limbs are. As dyspraxics struggle to sequence tasks and instruction that, to a neurotypical person, sounds like a painfully simple instruction can sound incredibly complex to us. I have spent years breaking things down into tiny steps which comes in especially useful when asking younger kids to do things.
Finally, when you spend your life knocking things over, spilling drinks and looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards it helps to see the funny side. Being able to laugh at yourself is vital when you get covered in sick for the millionth time, your nine year old patronises you for not being able to play Minecraft or your latest dad-joke only gets a disdain fuelled eye-roll. And I am resigned and accepting of the fact that my five year old is now far better at football than I will be!
