My name is Sherry and my son is a miracle. He is a holy terror. He is the light of my life. He is also the reason I am on the verge of being a crazy person. This is our story.
I’m sure you’re thinking, “That’s how everyone feels when it comes to their children.” I am sure that is true. But, we are at a special level of crazy. It’s the fifth degree black belt of crazy. You see my son is autistic.
Being the mother of a disabled child is a horrible and amazing world. The things that other people take for granted I see as momentous. I suppose most people would consider it making mountains out of molehills. Maybe it is. But, it has taught me to be thankful for things I never even would have noticed before.
First, let me tell you, there is no such thing as normal. The people society usually thinks of as “normal” are actually neurotypical or NT. Now that you are up on the lingo let me give you a glimpse into our world.
I know people with NT children who joke about wishing their child would just be quiet. Listening to a child yell mom over and over again works on the nerves of most parents. I have lots of empathy; I can understand how frustrating that can be. I also have the other perspective where hearing my son say mom is music to my ears. There was a time when we weren’t sure he would ever speak. And maybe one day I will be lucky enough to get tired of hearing it. One can only hope.
In many ways I feel sorry for the parents of NT kids. They will never know how blessed I am. They will never have the joy of learning to slow down and celebrate the little victories. Do they get to cheer every time their child buttons his own pants? Do they throw a party the day their child learns to spell his name? No? It’s kind of sad to think that they don’t.
Of course there are more bad moments than good. There are days when my son is upset because of something that most people wouldn’t even notice. Maybe the tag on his shirt is itchy. He doesn’t have the ability to ignore those sensations. That itch it the equivalent of being attacked by an army of fire ants. This causes a meltdown. Sometimes those meltdowns are so bad I have to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself.
But the good days far outweigh the bad. The moment that I am ready to rip my hair out, throw in the towel, and sit crying in a corner is when something miraculous happens.
My son doesn’t say I love you. I mean he will say it if he is prompted. If you say I love you to him he will answer in his own way. But, he has never spontaneously said it.
One day we were having one of those bad days. One of those everything-is-going-wrong-this-would-make-a-great-sitcom-episode-and-why-doesn’t-my-life-have-a-laugh-track kinds of days. The kind of day where,when I finally got my son to sleep for a nap, I lay there next to him and cried. I ended up falling asleep there with him.
I opened my eyes to find myself staring into the biggest, bluest eyes you have ever seen. My son was staring at me with a quizzical look on his face. Suddenly, he put his hand on my tear stained cheek and in his little boy voice said, “I love you.”
I live in a world full of miracles.
I’m sure you’re thinking, “That’s how everyone feels when it comes to their children.” I am sure that is true. But, we are at a special level of crazy. It’s the fifth degree black belt of crazy. You see my son is autistic.
Being the mother of a disabled child is a horrible and amazing world. The things that other people take for granted I see as momentous. I suppose most people would consider it making mountains out of molehills. Maybe it is. But, it has taught me to be thankful for things I never even would have noticed before.
First, let me tell you, there is no such thing as normal. The people society usually thinks of as “normal” are actually neurotypical or NT. Now that you are up on the lingo let me give you a glimpse into our world.
I know people with NT children who joke about wishing their child would just be quiet. Listening to a child yell mom over and over again works on the nerves of most parents. I have lots of empathy; I can understand how frustrating that can be. I also have the other perspective where hearing my son say mom is music to my ears. There was a time when we weren’t sure he would ever speak. And maybe one day I will be lucky enough to get tired of hearing it. One can only hope.
In many ways I feel sorry for the parents of NT kids. They will never know how blessed I am. They will never have the joy of learning to slow down and celebrate the little victories. Do they get to cheer every time their child buttons his own pants? Do they throw a party the day their child learns to spell his name? No? It’s kind of sad to think that they don’t.
Of course there are more bad moments than good. There are days when my son is upset because of something that most people wouldn’t even notice. Maybe the tag on his shirt is itchy. He doesn’t have the ability to ignore those sensations. That itch it the equivalent of being attacked by an army of fire ants. This causes a meltdown. Sometimes those meltdowns are so bad I have to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself.
But the good days far outweigh the bad. The moment that I am ready to rip my hair out, throw in the towel, and sit crying in a corner is when something miraculous happens.
My son doesn’t say I love you. I mean he will say it if he is prompted. If you say I love you to him he will answer in his own way. But, he has never spontaneously said it.
One day we were having one of those bad days. One of those everything-is-going-wrong-this-would-make-a-great-sitcom-episode-and-why-doesn’t-my-life-have-a-laugh-track kinds of days. The kind of day where,when I finally got my son to sleep for a nap, I lay there next to him and cried. I ended up falling asleep there with him.
I opened my eyes to find myself staring into the biggest, bluest eyes you have ever seen. My son was staring at me with a quizzical look on his face. Suddenly, he put his hand on my tear stained cheek and in his little boy voice said, “I love you.”
I live in a world full of miracles.
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