6. A Day of Struggles and Reflection: Sensory Processing Disorder

Yesterday was one of those days where I found myself questioning how much more my little guy could handle. It was bath day, which I’ve learned to approach with caution. You see, because of Maverick’s Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD), we can’t do baths every day like many families do. Maverick absolutely loathes baths. The sensation of water on his skin, the smells, the feeling of being immersed in water—it’s incredibly difficult for him. And honestly? It’s hard for me too, because as much as I want to keep him clean, I know that putting him through that sensory overload is more damaging than helpful. So, I try to space them out, and when bath day comes, I try to make it as smooth as possible, knowing full well that it’s going to be hard on him.

But yesterday, things took a turn. Maverick flipped the script completely. As soon as I placed him in the bathtub, he refused to sit down. He didn’t want me to wash him with the washcloth. He didn’t want to engage with any of his bath toys, which, up until now, have been a great distraction for him. His favorite toys are the ones that have water flowing from the bottom, thanks to the holes in the containers—he loves the way the water streams out, and it used to keep him entertained during bath time. But yesterday, even those toys weren’t enough.

The one part of the bath he’s never been okay with is having his hair washed. I should have known better. I’ve been through this before, and I should have anticipated how he would react. The first time Maverick had a bath was in the hospital after he was born. The nurse—who I can’t help but think was a bit rude—complained about how loudly he screamed during his bath. She said it hurt her ears, and in her 20 years of experience, she’d never heard anything like it. I remember feeling so hurt by that comment, but I didn’t have the words or the confidence to say anything back. How dare she reference my baby as a burden for simply reacting to something that was overwhelming for him?

Looking back, that was a clear sign of his Sensory Processing Disorder, even though I didn’t know it at the time. It was a sign that my newborn baby was experiencing an overstimulated, overwhelming sensory world, and he couldn’t process it the way other children could. I remember the hospital bath as a traumatic experience for both of us.

Now, when I look back at Maverick’s early days, there are so many moments I wish I had seen the signs. He failed his hearing test, had an awful first bath, and on top of everything, the stress of being born and adjusting to life outside the womb—it’s heartbreaking to think of how much my baby had to endure. But at the time, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. And now, with the knowledge I have, I can see how much he was struggling from the very beginning.

Back to yesterday’s bath, though. Maverick was not only refusing to engage in any way, but he started trying to climb out of the tub. He was running up my body, desperately trying to get away. It felt like I was failing him. How could I put my baby through this? Watching him struggle like that was traumatizing for both of us. It wasn’t just hard on him—it was hard for me too. The emotions of seeing him so upset and not being able to calm him down felt heavy.

I immediately started asking myself, “What can I do differently? How can I help him through this?” And so, it’s back to the drawing board. I need to figure out how I can make bath time easier for Maverick. I plan to bring this up with his therapists and work with them to see if there’s a way to incorporate water and bathing into his therapy. Maybe together we can come up with strategies to ease him into the experience more comfortably.

You see, Maverick’s uncle owns businesses that are centered around water activities, and I desperately want Maverick to get to a point where he can eventually enjoy those activities with the same ease as other children. There is a part of me that feels like this moment is a small piece of the bigger picture, but it’s such a hard pill to swallow knowing that something as basic as bath time can be so difficult for him. I want Maverick to be able to enjoy the things that I know will make his life more fulfilling as he grows older. One day, when he is able to participate in those water-based activities, it will be a glorious day for all of us. I know it will take time, but I believe it will happen.

In the meantime, I will continue to work through these challenges, one step at a time. And while it’s incredibly hard to watch Maverick struggle, I know that every step forward is a victory. Every small adjustment, every lesson learned, is progress. I will keep fighting for him, advocating for him, and doing everything I can to help him navigate this sensory world in a way that works for him. This journey may not always be easy, but I am in it for the long haul. And I know that in the end, we’ll make it through—together.