Slippery

I had the pleasure today to talk to another momma a little further down the path. It helps me so much to hear about someone else's journey and experiences. A topic that popped up often through the conversation was the idea of acceptance, specifically acceptance for WHO my son is.

I want that very much. I want to accept my handsome little guy for exactly who he is. In fact, I want the same for my daughter, for myself, for my marriage, for my Life...

I feel that acceptance for me is like a slippery fish. I feel like I am rooting around in murky water trying to capture this acceptance. (For the mental picture, envision "River Monsters" instead of "Hillbilly Handfishin'", please.)

I'll think I have it in my hands, holding it almost tangibly. I will be convinced I know what acceptance feels like, what it looks like, the weight of it. Then, it is gone through my fingers, and I am on the side of the road crying to "Born This Way".

I have to admit that I am not sure what the practicality of acceptance looks like...
How many occupational classes do you sign up for if you "have acceptance"?
How much do you dare hope for drastic improvement?
How much speech therapy coaching do we work on at home daily?
How much do I challenge him?
How much do I comfort him?
How much do I give him?
How much do I give in to him?
How much do I require from him?


Usually, I end the blog with my answers and my ideas.  Not this time...

I Surrender, part II

It is time.

I surrender to the word autistic.

I am too tired to fight anymore.  I give.

I have been running from this word as fast as possible for two years.  I realize now that I cannot outrun this word with a piece of paper from Easter Seals.  There will always be people in my son's life who label him as autistic. 

What is scarier than the word autistic, is the knowledge that no one actually knows for sure.  We just can't at this stage and age.  
He is speech-delayed; he has a fine motor delay; he has anxiety; and, I just found out yesterday, he has a gross motor delay.  Those are the facts.

The cause?  The depth? The breadth?  The future?  Those are the guesses...


I am not ready to say my child is autistic.  That may be denial.  If so, I am in good company (his pediatrician and Easter Seals among them).

...But I am tired of fighting the ghost of someone else's guess.  As of today, I will let the word autistic live in my universe.  I will not run away from it.  I will not fight it.  I will just let it sit beside me.