"Max, do you want some cereal?"
"Max, do you want some toast?"
"Max, let's go in your room and get dressed."
"Max, do you love Mommy?"
"Max, do you dislike Mommy?"
"Max, do you want to watch Jack Black on Yo Gabba Gabba again for the 300th time?"
"No!" (which by "no" he really means "yes" as he runs to the television because he is like a crack addict with JB's "Goodbye" song on YGG. A shaking, shivering, going-into-shock-if-we-don't-watch-it-atleast-five-times-an-hour-and-listen-to-it-the-entire-time-we-are-in-the-car crack addict)
Anyway, back to PT. Before we even got in the front door, he was doing the "dead fish" act on the sidewalk. He fell limp on the concrete while I was holding his hand and refused to stand up. When we finally got inside and he saw his therapist, he wouldn't let go of my leg and didn't want to go with her to the back (even though I always go with him).
Once in the PT area, he hid underneath the trampoline, waaaaaaay in the back against the wall where no one could reach him, and refused to come out. He hit the therapist. He tried to jump off the top of the slide. He tried to climb up the slide. He threw his puzzle pieces across the room. He threw several temper tantrums. He fought, he cried. He ran away. It was a mess.
Like I said, I always go to the therapy area with him because he cries and refuses to do ANYTHING if I don't. Well, as far as I am concerned, that just has to stop. He gets distracted by me when I am with him in therapy and he has got to learn that he is safe and will be okay. So today, I snuck away about 30 minutes into therapy and sat in the waiting room. The therapist said he kept asking for me, but he didn't cry. She let him swing and they sang songs to keep him calm. Maybe I will be able to sit in the waiting room from now on. And maybe even someday...I'll be able to run an errand. You never know.