The Beginning and Why I Can Confidently Say Autism Sucks

Autism Sucks.

When my husband and I found out we were pregnant with our first child we sat down and had a very serious talk about what his/her life would look like. One of the first things to go was the word "suck." I mean, it's vulgar and crass and the thought of that word coming out of the mouth of a perfect, precious, innocent baby to mean anything other than wanting to latch onto its mother is pretty much horrifying. So along with any movies we thought could taint the atmosphere that would shelter this perfect being that was forming inside me, "suck" went out the window.

It was a boy.

Have you ever seen a more beautiful profile???

Naturally learning this lead to another serious sit down with my husband. After all, we had to set realistic expectations for the future life and accomplishments of this tiny fetus. First, he would be speaking and reading at an early age. His mother did. So obviously... Math would be another strong suit. His Dad was studying constantly for a master's exam and clearly that was rubbing off on the baby.  And after highschool our alma mater where he would be the star point guard for BYU's basketball team. Of course he would be tall and handsome. We weren't sure whose genes that would come through but it only made sense. And then a successful career as president of the free world would top the list. Marriage, wasn't necessarily in the cards because he would probably want to spend most of his time with me, his mother. If this sounds overbearing and unhealthy to you, you're right. But this was my reality.

And then autism.

At 20 months our son stopped speaking. He wouldn't look at me. Hug me. Turn when I called for him. Up to this point everything had been running smoothly. After a 26 hour, terrifying birth that is only fitting for the baby that would be the man that would be the legend. He was born via an emergency C-section. He came out fist first. No kidding. As soon as they cut me open the first thing to pop up was a startlingly large fist. And he was beautiful. The most beautiful mortal. Check.

22 months.

Still not talking. Or calling me Mommy. Or looking at me. Or yelling up the stairs "Dadddyyy where are youuuuu?" Clearly he was just mad at me and everything would be fine soon. After all, I had the audacity to bring him a baby sister. And little boys don't like babies, or dolls or their mother's attention being split when he was so glorious I could have just spent my whole day looking at him. My mother-in-law came to visit. She was sure it was the milk. After all my husband was allergic to milk. I of course had no idea because he happily polished off a large bowl of ice cream every night before bed. Could have fooled me. She said it seemed like autism. And then she sent a book in the mail. It was called "How to help your autistic child." I was mad. Rightfully so said my Mom. How could she think that? Clearly there was no intellectual disability. The boy had his alphabet down pat by 18 months. Check.

Developmental delays they said.

Yes, I took him in. But I was sure they were wrong. How could they say. He was JUST 2. I mean just. They were judging him like they would a 2 year old and every good mother knows what a big year 2 is. Between 2 and 3 you become a man or something like that. But still I set up early intervention services. I mean better safe then sorry. And if they wanted to give him another leg up when he was already clearly a genius, be my guest. We didn't have developmental delays in my family. We were all in extended studies. And honors classes. And, and.

Is he a stuffer?

His early interventionist asked me this casually one day. Yes he shoved as much food as would fit into his mouth at once. Hearty appetite. Growing boy. Big plans. "I can tell" she said. "It's a sensory need." I think this shocked me because it was proof maybe she actually had some insight. After all, how could she know?

Stubborn.

Of course! That was it. He was stubborn. He was still upset about us having another baby. It all made sense. He was misbehaving. He was manipulating me. Boy was he smart. He knew just what to do to get me where he wanted. Ignore me. Pretend I don't exist. Ha ha! I got it now. And sure being stubborn seems like a less desirable trait. But not for my boy. Sure it was a pain now but boy would this serve him well in the future. No flip flopping for him in his morals, or his political campaign for that matter. This boy was stubborn. Stubborn or just strong? This would certainly be counted among his virtues one day.

3 years old.

Well this is really skipping ahead. But I went through it all. I needed to be a better disciplinarian. And also more kind and patient and gentle. But firm. Not letting him get away with things. And no more milk, or gluten while I'm at it. It was the essential oils he needed. Reflexology anyone? 3 years old loomed like a dark and horrible cloud. He couldn't be almost 3. I held on to 2 as long as I could. It was how I could explain it to others and to myself. He was still just 2 after all. Practically a baby. And we had done everything we could think of. And everything my Mom could think of. And everything her friends could think of. And everything the Internet could think of. He had an occupational therapist and a speech therapist and an early interventionist. And for good measure a dietician and a naturopath.

Autism sucks.

No more saying Mommy. No more laughing together. No more white house. It was painful. It is painful. Almost as painful as no more saying Daddy. Or pretending to talk to Grandma on the phone. Or telling me about ho'ho's (horses). Or saying bye bye. Or being excited when I walk into a room. Or being sad when I leave one. Or or or.

Pictures from here on out look about like this. Him running away. Me running behind with the camera trying to capture someone I love more than anything.