It all began as a gentle whisper in my heart. Something feels off. Is it just me, or does he not seem to engage? Why doesn’t he look at me? Shouldn’t he be more connected? Are all boys like this? If I were a better mom, I’d figure it out.
For months, I tried to ignore those whispers. I threw myself into playdates, decorating the nursery for baby number two, planning family vacations, and convincing myself that he’d eventually catch up. Boys develop slower than girls, right? He’s just a little introspective. He’s shy. He’s being stubborn. But the blame I placed on myself was overwhelming. Did I not read to him enough? Was I choosing the wrong books? Maybe I should have taught him sign language as a baby. Should I have gone for organic baby food? Did I ruin him by playing Lady Gaga instead of Mozart? I should’ve signed him up for baby art classes instead of gym. It was all my fault. The guilt felt like a tidal wave, and I was drowning.
As time passed, that nagging voice in my heart moved to my mind. He still wasn’t talking. He didn’t look me in the eyes. He didn’t respond when I called his name. Expressing emotions was a struggle for him. Sometimes, it felt as if he looked right through me. He walked on his toes, flapped his arms, and spun around when he was excited. Something was different. Autism. Deep down, I knew it was autism. I had been a teacher before he was born, for heaven’s sake—how could I ignore the signs?
I picked up the phone and called a child psychologist. “I’d like to schedule an appointment for my son. He just turned two, and I think he has autism.” Saying it out loud felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on my heart. After hanging up, I curled up on the couch and cried. My baby. My firstborn. Autism. What did I do? What did I not do? Why us?
Days turned into weeks. We were happy. We were good parents. We celebrated his second birthday, and our newborn arrived with such drama he almost made his entrance in the car on the way to the hospital. Life was good—great, in fact. The waves of guilt gradually receded, and I felt the weight on my heart start to lift.
Two months later, I found myself sitting on an uncomfortable couch with my husband, our newborn snoozing between us, while our toddler played with his babysitter. Across from us was a woman who looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine—serious and abrupt. With a nonchalant tone, she dropped the life-altering news: “Based on our discussions, tests, and observations, I can confidently say your son has moderate autism. The results are conclusive.”
At 10:42 AM on that sunny Monday, everything changed. Our family evolved. And you know what? It was for the better. Just a minute earlier, I might not have believed that, but here I was, feeling lighter. The guilt vanished. I hadn’t caused this. No one had. Goodbye, guilt wave. See you never, bricks on my heart.
Now, we understand why my sweet boy is the way he is. He is different, and that’s perfectly okay. My son has autism, and without it, he wouldn’t be the incredible person he is today. He’s full of silliness, loves to tickle and wrestle with daddy at bedtime, enjoys exploring the outdoors, and can’t get enough of Elmo videos on YouTube. Music makes him dance freely at school, and that’s a sight to behold.
Just yesterday, while we were at Target, he cupped my face in his little hands and gave me a big, slobbery kiss. You might take that for granted, but for me, it’s monumental. It signifies progress and connection. That’s something I had prayed for months ago. And when the tears started rolling at the Halloween costume aisle, I didn’t feel ashamed. He made me a mom, and he’s teaching me to be the woman 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 reflection, Mia Johnson shares her journey of discovering her son’s autism. Initially filled with guilt and self-blame, she eventually finds peace and understanding, embracing her son’s unique qualities. With humor and love, she highlights the joys of motherhood and the deep connection fostered through their experiences.