Last week’s diagnosis came as a surprise, albeit not a complete shock, I suppose. Had we been truly expecting it, my husband probably would not have sent his 34-week pregnant and overly emotional wife to get the news by herself… He’s too good of a guy to let that happen on purpose. But I suppose on some level, I’ve known for quite some time that there was… something. I just didn’t know it was this. Autism. Autism? What do I really know about Autism Spectrum Disorder? I know it’s a neurological condition that affects a person’s behaviors, social interactions, and communication skills. I know what it looks like in certain cases, as I’ve worked in public schools for twelve years. I know April is Autism Awareness Month, and everyone in school wears blue and gets pins with puzzle pieces on them. I know it’s different for everyone. And now, I know my two-year-old daughter, the most extraordinary person in my whole world, has Autism. Friends and family have asked how I feel. How do I feel? That’s a loaded question… I suppose I feel overwhelmed by the unknown. Who will be the best people to provide services? What does this mean for us in the short term? What about the long term? How will the arrival of a new baby in a few weeks affect her? How will she learn to cope with her challenges? What are her challenges? What are my challenges? Where. Where do I start? But in the midst of all these questions, these scary unknowns, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my whole life: There is absolutely nothing that I would change about this little person. She is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and to take away this diagnosis would take away a part of her, and I would never want that to happen. No one else in this world (at least as of yet) is worthy of what I tell her every single night: Mommy loves you more than all the words in all the books and all the stars in the sky.
She isn’t any different today than she was last week. She is not (nor will she ever be) defined by this. There are a lot of things that she is: Funny, hilarious actually, especially when she over exaggerates how her cup of milk is so heavy. Loving and affectionate toward most people, but she saves the very best for her mommy, daddy, doggie, and hopefully soon, her new baby. In fact, she gives the best hugs and kisses I’ve ever known. Silly. Energetic. Imaginative. Stubborn. She gets that one from her mama. Curious. She gets that one from her daddy. Ridiculously intelligent. But in my opinion, there’s one thing she’s not: Autistic. That’s a label, and it’s not one that will define her. There are many things she has: Beautiful, big, brown eyes. Strong and supportive parents who will advocate for her all the days of our lives. Surprisingly good aim for a two-year-old. A sweet new big girl room that’s decorated with her favorite thing, stars. A phenomenal developmental pediatrician at Boston Children’s Hospital. An unbelievably patient 80-pound black lab who is the source of her greatest joy. And Autism. Autism is something she has, not something she is.
So here we are: A little family of soon-to-be-four, in a place of a lot of confusion, a lot of questions, a few tears, but even more giggles. (After all, you can’t not giggle with this little clown in your life.) I know I’m not the first mama to go through something like this, to seek an outlet to help myself process what our new normal can and will be, and I won’t be the last. So I figured, why not process together? Why not take this news and turn it into something extraordinary, just like my little person. That’s why I write and why I share my words with the world: so readers can laugh and cry, learn and empathize, or even just sympathize, and where I can share my journey through motherhood and all that comes with it, come what may.
