Pages Blog My husband and I have developed a secret code phrase that allows us to communicate to the other person that we have reached the limit of our coping strategies. Quite simply, we say "I'm going to get milk." I once said this to my husband when we had six bags of two percent in the fridge. He immediately understood, and I was excused from 'duty' until I no longer felt the need to fetch us more dairy beverage. Allow me to fill you in... The summer of 2009 was, to be honest, one of the worst times of my life. I had a nine-month-old baby who wasn't yet sleeping through the night, and a three-year-old undiagnosed autistic child (who also didn't sleep through the night) who challenged me at every turn. My days were a fog-infused blur of dirty diapers, spinning Mason jar lids, temper tantrums, and endless routines. Everywhere I turned it seemed someone was demanding something of me, and the delivery had to be immediate without any allowance for rest or rejuvenation in between. I remember the day I sat on the floor of my living room holding my daughter, who was crying, and listening to my son having a meltdown behind the locked door of his room. I sat surrounded by at least one hundred metal jar lids scattered on the floor and the dishes that had been piling up in the kitchen since seven in the morning. I felt imprisoned by the baby gates