The moment my son, Charlie, was placed in my arms was the happiest of my life. As I gazed at him, a rush of joy washed over me that I had never known before. He was healthy, alert, and alive—what more could I ask for? To me, he was perfect.
Before embracing motherhood, I had studied special education and worked with adults with developmental disabilities. As Charlie grew, I noticed that he hit milestones at a slower pace. He struggled with weight and was labeled as failure to thrive for a period, which led to us transitioning from breastfeeding to formula earlier than I had hoped. I thought the delays stemmed from his nutrition and sleep—how could a child learn if their basic needs weren’t met?
While his peers were walking and beginning to talk, Charlie was content to crawl and babble. “He’s just lazy. Boys develop at their own pace,” I heard often. Yet, deep down, I worried. I worried like someone with experience in this field would.
I recalled the reports I had read about the individuals I had worked with, often detailing late milestones. I noticed Charlie flapping his hands, something the pediatrician assured me was normal for infants. Despite my professional background, I struggled to separate my work from my role as a mother. If I followed my instincts, I felt we would be permanently visiting hospitals.
Charlie would often not respond when people waved or called his name. He seemed uninterested in engaging with his toys and disliked being read to, although he loved books. There were moments when I felt like we weren’t even in the same space. If he was hungry or tired, he would cry uncontrollably until we figured out what he needed. I had experience with children and adults with disabilities, but none with infants, especially those with disabilities. I kept assuring myself, “He’s just a baby.”
The pivotal moment came during a trip to a pumpkin patch when Charlie was about 14 months old. A family friend had a daughter three months younger than him. She pointed at things, waved, and even blew kisses. She responded to her name and walked with ease. In contrast, a young man with developmental disabilities from her family ran past us, full of energy, displaying excitement through jumping and hand flapping. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between my son and this young man rather than with the baby closer to Charlie’s age.
I was at the pumpkin patch, yet I felt detached, mentally tallying what Charlie wasn’t doing. I returned home and made a list, the first item being “does not respond to his name.” Everything else might be subjective—was he flapping in excitement or just being lazy? But not responding to his name felt like a clear concern.
Trusting my instincts was challenging, especially since my anxiety often clouded my judgment. Just the day before, I had convinced myself I had skin cancer over a minor scar. So, I spoke to myself as I would to another mother. It was wise to get evaluations early, as they often lead to better outcomes. Worst case, the doctor reassured me that I was overthinking it. Either he had autism, or he didn’t, and I was doing everything I could.
When I discussed my concerns with my partner, he was open but not convinced. I was prepared for our pediatrician’s appointment in five days. We would evaluate our options. If early intervention was necessary, the services were free and risk-free. He agreed, and we began our journey into early intervention.
Through assessments, we discovered that Charlie qualified for early intervention services. Now, he has two dedicated teachers who engage with him at home. He responds to his name, points excitedly, and participates in activities. Reflecting on his progress brings tears to my eyes; it’s incredible how much he has achieved in just six months. Had I waited, we would have lost valuable time, possibly making it harder for him to adapt to new routines. Early intervention is crucial, especially since services only extend until the age of three before transitioning to the school district.
Conversations about autism can be complicated. I am not ashamed or disheartened by my son’s diagnosis. Instead, I am proud of myself for overcoming my anxiety to secure the help he needs. I admire my partner for embracing parenthood and implementing the early intervention suggestions into our daily lives.
Throughout this journey, I often encountered well-meaning but ultimately misguided encouragement from friends. Phrases like, “Boys develop slower,” or “He’s perfect!” were common. While I believe Charlie is indeed perfect, these comments could have been detrimental. If I hadn’t had my educational background, I might have delayed seeking evaluations and services, which have proven invaluable for our family.
I don’t advocate for panic or alarm when a friend expresses concerns about their child’s development. However, we need to shift the way we discuss autism and encourage seeking help. Not every mother has the confidence to trust her instincts; therefore, when a friend expresses worries, I suggest she lists her concerns and consults a pediatrician. Encourage her to consider that early intervention services, often provided free of charge, can only help. If her child does not qualify, she can still gain valuable resources for assistance.
While it’s lovely to remind parents that their child is perfect, it’s essential to convey that they remain perfect regardless of an evaluation outcome. When I heard “he’s perfect” in response to my concerns, it felt as if perfection was conditional on the absence of a diagnosis like autism.
The evaluator who first mentioned autism to me was cautious, stating, “He’s so young; we can’t be certain. However, he will benefit from services.” I reflect on this when I engage in autism support groups or when colleagues inquire about Charlie’s services. I strive to normalize rather than sensationalize his diagnosis. For instance, when discussing my son with a coworker whose son received speech services, I openly stated, “Charlie has a diagnosis of autism and receives early intervention to assist with speech and play skills.”
Even among professionals, the term autism can carry a stigma. I make it a point to speak positively about my son, his services, and his achievements. I want others to know that seeking evaluation is not a big deal. I want my friends and family to understand that we cherish our remarkable son, regardless of the challenges ahead.
I once participated in a group chat with mothers from a breastfeeding support group. One day, I noticed a woman express that autism was her worst fear. Given the myriad challenges parents face, it’s troubling to single out autism as the most daunting. Autism is not a tragedy; it’s just another aspect of parenthood that we navigate to the best of our abilities.
I write this not out of sadness or a sense of loss but to remind parents and their friends that autism is not a taboo topic. It’s simply one of many dimensions of parenting. I hope we can reshape our conversations around autism and support parents in seeking necessary evaluations. Encourage them to pursue assessments; remind them that their child will remain perfect, and please, do not dismiss their concerns. That encouragement may be the crucial difference between timely services and unnecessary delays.
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Summary
In this article, the author shares her experience navigating her son Charlie’s developmental milestones and the impact of well-meaning but often dismissive comments from friends. She emphasizes the importance of trusting one’s instincts and seeking evaluations for early intervention services. The narrative highlights the need for a positive dialogue around autism and encourages parents to take concerns seriously without feeling ashamed.