I didn’t even know that I took the little things for granted. After all, I knew what it was like to have a hard life. My two adorable children were already living a life 100 percent more stable than mine. They weren’t sleeping in cars in the winter or eating every three days. So, of course, I thought I was a good mom. But there were so many things that I was about to learn on our journey, and thank God that I learned them before I missed more.
You see, our journey into parenthood wasn’t too bad. We had our first adorable red-headed daughter later in life. I was already 28. She was cute. She was smart. She was funny. Everything about her being in our life was amazing.
Then a nearly four years later, we added another sweet angel to our lives. Who knew we would have another red-headed adorable child — this time a son. And, well, he was cute. He was smart. He was funny. He hit all his milestones and did everything like his big sister — right on time and sometimes early. That’s what kids do. They grow up, learn to crawl, learn to walk. So what was the big deal? I didn’t take first haircut photos or celebrate the tooth fairy in grandiose style like some of my peers. I always said it was because I was practical. What’s all the fuss about?
Then we got our third miracle. She wasn’t like the others. So small and fragile. Long dark brown hair. A quiet baby. Honestly, I was relieved. One of the children was more like their dad, the strong silent type. At least that’s how I began the rationalizations.
Well, milestones started getting missed. But hey, that happens right? And then the doctor started wanting very specific dates about when she crawled, when she walked, when she said her first word. But, you see, why would I track such things? Why would I celebrate such things because they just happen, right?
Well, no. No, they don’t always just happen. And nine and half months pregnant with our fourth miracle, I sat in a room as they analyzed what my daughter could do versus what she should do, and it became very apparent our daughter wasn’t hitting milestones. I mean she turned 2 years old a month before the appointment, and she had never said Mommy. I tried not to take it personally. All kids get there in their own time. She didn’t say Daddy, either. Well, frankly, she didn’t say much. She counted all the time, in English, Spanish, Korean, Mandarin and Portuguese. Yet, she didn’t say Mommy. But she will get there in her own time, right?
The woman doing the exam was very sweet with our daughter. She was loving and patient as she tried to get her to do things I knew she could not do. Patient and kind as she asked me the questions I didn’t have the answers for while I rubbed my belly hoping the new arrival would come soon.
Then this woman who had all the compassion in the world for my dear daughter looked at me and said plainly, “Your daughter is at least moderately autistic.”
Wow. Just like that, huh? Just like that our whole lives change?
Then I did the thing no parent should ever do — I Googled “autism.” I Googled it because I had never heard of it before. I didn’t know anyone that was autistic or had an autistic child.
And, by golly, just don’t do that to yourself. I read link after link and study after study on how my miracle was never going to do this and never going to do that. I read page after page of stories about how my child would be treated by others. I read page after page of all the various early intervention options.
I read about all the milestones my daughter wouldn’t hit. All the milestones that I never celebrated with my first two children. I read more about parenting in those first months after her diagnosis than I had ever read in the first six years of being a parent.
There is a silver lining to this story, though. While I beat myself up over all the things I hadn’t celebrated with my other children, I realized the amazing blessing I had been given. While learning to break down tasks into the smaller steps my daughter needed to learn her way, I started to celebrate small moments. The moments in time, not just the milestones.
I began to be more aware of the true miracles that happened to my children each day. I started to celebrate. Celebrate all of my children. Celebrate the lost tooth — all of them. Celebrate drinking from a straw and then a glass. I was able to celebrate things much smaller than crawling and walking. My life became so much fuller.
On August 8, 2013, my dear daughter was given an autism diagnosis. Yes, this day changed our lives, but this day also gave me the tools to help my sweet angel to be the best her she can be. And it gave me the tools to be the best mom I could be — to all my children.
Autism allowed me to learn to celebrate life because life is a miracle. All lives are miracles. I take a few more pictures now. I give a million more hugs, and say “I love you” a billion times a day.
I learned to celebrate the “cans” and break the “can’ts” into smaller chunks until they become cans. While I do not wish anyone to have this be the catalyst for change in their thinking, I wouldn’t change my sweet angel for anything. She has autism. Without it, she is not her. Without it, we are not the family we are now. Without it, I would have kept missing the everyday miracles in my life.
Autism didn’t end our lives. It was just the beginning of a new path on our family’s journey. I intend to enjoy the ride as best I can.
Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images