It all began as a quiet nagging feeling in my heart. Something feels off. Why doesn’t he look me in the eye? Shouldn’t he seem more engaged? Is this typical for boys? If I were a better mom, I’d know for sure.
For months, I brushed these concerns aside, pouring my energy into playdates, decorating for my second baby, planning family trips, and convincing myself he would eventually catch up. Boys mature slower than girls, right? He’ll talk in his own time. He’s just shy or maybe a little stubborn. But deep down, I blamed myself. Was I reading enough to him? Was I choosing the right books? I should have taught him sign language as an infant or picked organic baby food. Maybe it was all that pop music instead of classical. I should’ve enrolled him in baby art classes instead of gym. The guilt was overwhelming, like I was drowning in an ocean of shame.
As months passed, the whisper in my heart became louder. He still wasn’t talking, avoided eye contact, didn’t respond to his name, and struggled to express feelings. Sometimes, it felt like he was looking right past me. He walked on his toes, flapped his arms, and spun in circles when excited. Something was definitely different. Autism. I knew the signs; I had been a teacher before he was born. I could no longer ignore it.
I called a local child psychologist to schedule an appointment for my son, who had just turned two. Saying the word “autism” out loud felt like a weight had been dropped onto my heart. I hung up and curled up on the couch, tears streaming down my face. My baby. My firstborn. Autism. Why us? What did I do wrong?
Time moved on. We were happy. We celebrated his second birthday, and our newborn arrived in a whirlwind, almost born in the car on the way to the hospital. Life was good. My guilt started to fade, and the heaviness on my heart began to lift.
Two months later, I found myself sitting with my husband on a lumpy couch, our newborn sleeping beside us while our toddler stayed home with a babysitter. Across from us was a woman who looked like she could be the next star of a makeover show—serious and abrupt. She shared the news that would change everything: “Based on our discussions, tests, and observations, I can confidently say your son has moderate autism.”
It was 10:42 AM on a sunny Monday, and my entire perspective shifted. Our family changed, and surprisingly, it was for the better. At 10:41 AM, I wouldn’t have believed that, but it’s the truth. The guilt evaporated. This wasn’t my fault. Goodbye, ocean of guilt; farewell, bricks on my heart.
Now, I understand why my son is unique. It’s okay that he’s different. My son has autism, and without it, he wouldn’t be the amazing person he is. He’s playful, loves to wrestle with his dad before bedtime, enjoys outdoor adventures, and dances at school without a care in the world.
Just yesterday at Target, he pulled my face close and gave me a big, slobbery kiss. You might think that’s no big deal, but for me, it’s a sign of progress and connection. That’s something I prayed for not long ago, and I wasn’t ashamed to shed a few tears near the Halloween costumes. He’s making me a better mom, and I wouldn’t change him for anything.
Autism doesn’t alter that. It doesn’t change who we are as a family.
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In summary, embracing my son’s autism has been a transformative experience. It has taught me to appreciate his unique qualities and the connection we share. The journey, while challenging, has also been filled with growth, love, and joy.