It began as a gentle murmur within me. Something felt off. Why doesn’t he make eye contact? Shouldn’t he seem more engaged? Is this typical for boys? If I were a better mom, I would know.
I spent months pushing those thoughts aside, focusing on playdates, preparing the nursery for my second son, planning family outings, and assuring myself that he would eventually catch up. Boys develop at a different pace than girls, I reasoned. He’ll talk. He’s just introspective and a bit shy. Perhaps he’s just being obstinate. Yet, I couldn’t shake the guilt. Was I not reading enough to him? Was it the wrong kind of books? Should I have introduced sign language earlier? That organic baby food debate haunted me. Should I have enrolled him in art classes instead of gym? The blame weighed on me like an anchor, pulling me down.
As time went on, that whisper grew louder. He still wasn’t speaking. He avoided eye contact and didn’t respond to his name. Expressing emotions seemed difficult for him; at times, he appeared to look right through me. He walked on his toes, flapped his arms, and spun in circles when excited. There was something different—autism. Deep down, I knew. I had been a teacher before he was born and recognized the signs. I could no longer ignore them.
I reached out to a local child psychologist. “I’d like to schedule an appointment for my son. He just turned two. I suspect he has autism.” Saying it aloud felt like a heavy weight had settled on my heart. I hung up, curled up on the couch, and cried. My baby boy. Autism. Why us? What did I do wrong?
Life went on. We were happy. We celebrated his second birthday, and our newborn son arrived with such gusto he nearly made his entrance in the car. Everything felt good; the waves of guilt were slowly receding, and the weight on my heart was lifting.
Two months later, my husband and I sat on a stiff couch with our newborn asleep between us, our toddler at home with a sitter. A serious woman behind a massive mahogany desk was about to change our lives forever. “Based on everything we’ve discussed and the evaluations conducted, I can confidently say your son has moderate autism. The tests are conclusive.”
It was 10:42 AM on a sunny Monday, and my world shifted. Our family transformed, but you know what? It transformed for the better. Just a minute earlier, I might not have believed that, but it’s true. The guilt vanished. This wasn’t my fault. Goodbye, ocean of guilt. Farewell, bricks on my heart.
Now, we understand why my delightful son is the way he is. Yes, he’s different—and that’s perfectly fine. My son has autism, and without it, he wouldn’t be who he is today. He’s silly, loves to wrestle with his dad before bed, enjoys outdoor exploration, and can’t get enough of Elmo on YouTube. He adores music and dances freely at school.
Just yesterday, while at Target, he cupped my face in his hands and gave me a big, slobbery kiss. You might take such moments for granted, but to me, that signifies progress, connection, and sheer joy. It’s something I had prayed for just months ago. I felt no shame as tears streamed down my face right by the discounted Halloween costumes. He made me a mom, and he’s shaping the woman and parent I aspire to be. I wouldn’t trade him for anything.
Autism doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change anything.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, Lisa Carter reflects on her journey of discovering her son’s autism. From initial whispers of concern to acceptance and understanding, she shares her emotional evolution, emphasizing that her son’s differences are not limitations but rather part of his unique identity. With newfound insights, she celebrates the joy and connection she shares with her son, recognizing that autism is just one aspect of who he is.
Keyphrase: My Son Has Autism
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