From "I'm an Alien" to Solo Mall Trips: A PDA Parenting Milestone
If you had told me five years ago that I’d be sitting in a parking lot, voluntarily caffeinating myself while my eldest child roamed the mall without a leash—metaphorically speaking—I would have assumed you’d finally succumbed to the fumes of the sensory-friendly slime we used to make by the gallon.But here we are. The year is 2026, Olivia is nearly sixteen, and the "Alien" has officially successfully navigated a terrestrial shopping center.
From "Burn It Down" to "Bag or No Bag?"
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of the PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance) and Autism experience, our "early years" weren't exactly a Hallmark movie. Unless that movie involves a child shouting, "I’m going to burn this all to the ground!" in the middle of a crowded aisle because another person accidentally touched their skin.
Back then, "regulation" looked like interesting declarations of intergalactic heritage and the occasional aggressive outburst that teachers—bless their hearts—interpreted as "rudeness" rather than "my nervous system is currently a live wire in a thunderstorm."We’ve spent a decade playing a high-stakes game of "Trail the Mom." It graduated from Liv being my shadow, to Liv walking three feet ahead, to the legendary day they actually spoke to a cashier. That event was a comedic masterpiece of social inquiry:
- "What do I say?"
- "Must I greet them?" * "Do I say thank you, or is that too much?" * "Do I ask the price even though it’s on the screen?"
It was like watching a Victorian traveler try to use a self-checkout.
The Great Drop-Off
Last Saturday, the unthinkable happened. A request. A solo outing. With a friend. Without me.The night before was a symphony of "What Ifs." We mapped out every possible disaster like we were planning a heist. By the time we were done, Liv knew that even if the mall's ceiling spontaneously combusted, they had a plan.I dropped them off and hovered in a nearby radius like a low-orbit satellite. I was prepared for the frantic "come get me" text within ten minutes. It never came.
The Tipping Point (Literally)
They didn't just survive; they thrived. They had lunch. They browsed. They even survived a run-in with the ultimate boss level: The Scorned Waitress. Apparently, in the excitement of independence, Olivia "forgot tips existed." When the waitress demanded her percentage, Liv got the fright of their life. But guess what? They handled it. No meltdowns, no alien threats, just a very confused teenager realising that capitalism requires a 10% convenience fee.
The Aftermath
When they finally climbed back into the car, they were exhausted. The "sensory hangover" was real, and the social battery was at 0%. But they did it. At nearly sixteen, we have reached the era of solo outings. I am currently pinching myself to ensure I haven’t slipped into a fever dream. To the kid who used to stim through the stress of a birthday party: you’re doing great, my child. Just remember to bring extra cash for the tip next time.