By: Maya Thompson
I once envisioned myself as the quintessential mom, effortlessly nurturing my little one in a backyard filled with sunshine. I imagined us joyfully creating finger-paint masterpieces, followed by a wholesome snack of organic fruits and Greek yogurt. My child would gaze up at me with unconditional love, and I would respond with a graceful toss of my hair, flipping through my well-organized idea book for our next engaging project. The late afternoon sun would bathe us in a warm, sepia glow, symbolizing the ideal motherhood experience. Record scratch Freeze frame Voice-over narrator: “Well, that’s definitely not how it went!”
Instead, I became a mom navigating postpartum anxiety and an overwhelming sense of guilt for not living up to my idealized vision. I scrutinized every decision I made, agonizing over each parenting fork in the road, and felt a wave of shame each time my adorable baby stumbled over his own chubby feet (a lot of that was on me). Instead of gracefully tossing my hair, I found myself frazzled, and my child was anything but a perfect little angel.
Fast forward to April 2012: my son was 20 months old and recently diagnosed with autism (bonus points if you guessed I took that personally). I faced a new reality filled with therapy sessions, appointments, and the complexities of special education. I looked at my son—still adorable and still full of life—flapping his hands joyfully, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing in my heart.
That’s when it hit me: this child is not defined by any diagnosis. Yes, he is autistic and requires support every day, but he is uniquely mine. No book or therapist can ever encapsulate his spirit or potential. I hold the reins on how we navigate this journey together, and that realization empowered me to embrace each day with renewed resolve.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not claiming to be supermom. Most mornings, I resemble a zombie until coffee kicks in and I’ve managed to snag a few minutes of peace. What I do possess, however, is a fantastic sense of humor. I’m not shy about using my snarky wit, and I find that laughter can break the tension in almost any situation (well, maybe not during labor—that’s a whole different ballgame). As long as I have humor by my side, I know I’ll be okay.
Fortunately, my son shares this delightful goofiness. He learns through playfulness, and if laughter were currency, he would be among the richest kids on the planet. His contagious giggle bubbles up from deep within, often causing the whole family to erupt in laughter. I hope that as he grows, he retains this incredible ability to find humor in the world around him. He giggles at silly things like falling or bubbles popping on his nose, and each time he smiles, my heart swells a little more.
Recently, I spoke with a mother whose daughter had just received an autism diagnosis. Understandably, she was feeling lost and frightened. “What does she enjoy? Does she like blocks or puzzles?” I asked. “Not really, Pavi,” she replied. “She loves bouncing on our couch and laughing.”
“Perfect! Join her! Bounce alongside her, hold her hands, and spin her around. Embrace her laughter and turn it into a superpower for both of you!”
While I may not be teaching my son multiple languages or perfect etiquette, that’s okay. I’m not crafting a cookie-cutter child who meets societal expectations. I’m raising a delightful, spirited goofball who finds joy within and around him. Regardless of the ups and downs we experience, one undeniable benefit of our shared sense of humor is that we always fall asleep with smiles on our faces.
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In summary, embracing humor has transformed my parenting experience after a challenging diagnosis. Instead of striving for perfection, I focus on nurturing a joyful environment filled with laughter and love.