I see your big brown doe eyes peering over the edge of my fleece comforter, questioning and yearning for the words you so desperately want to say. I'm sitting on the floor sorting laundry and I can still hear the voices coming from your iPad, discarded to the other side of the bed. You jump down with a remote in your fist, having only been able to turn the TV on and not knowing which buttons work the magic to get to your app. Your little hand clutches mine pulling me up towards the bed. Climbing up, the remote hits my palm and your eyes dart back and forth between my hand and the TV. "Do you want to watch the animals?" Your body tenses with excitement and you nod, "yes."
Your giggles erupt from your body from somewhere deep inside your little body. You leap up and zoom around the room, jumping from the bed, to the floor and up onto my reading chair just as the cats in the videos do. We have come so far, you and I. When we moved off the property, I had to leave nursing you full time and I felt like you began favoring your father over me. It was a selfish though that left me feeling dirty and guilty, but I did feel that way regardless. As the months passed, I saw your sweet fat baby thighs give way to meaty muscular little legs that ran and toddled from room to room. You advanced so fast from baby to toddler, from toddler to preschooler.
I still remember your father and I, sobbing in both relief and defeat. We had just got the documentation from the Marcus Autism Institute and didn't know which way was up, but we knew that everything changed for you and yet nothing changed ABOUT you. Some doors slammed so hard shut that you could almost hear others on the other side nailing them sealed. Other doors opened and their welcoming lights poured out onto you like answers to prayers we didn't know we had. Therapist after therapist came into our home offering their services and wisdom to you and you drank it up. Words didn't come, but your ways of communication did. And then you graduated from toddler to preschooler. I wasn't ready to put that enormous in comparison backpack on your tiny shoulders. I wasn't ready for 5:30 am wake up calls so I could create a rigid schedule with some semblance of comforting normalcy before getting you on the bus. Coffee made, lunch made, bag organized, zipped and ready to go, outfit with training pants, socks and shoes laid out on my bed. Every morning is the same with the exception of what "bee bee cat" you choose to bring to school with you. You love school, and they wrap you up in their arms while you wrap them around your fingers. I get notes about your curly surfer dude hair, or how you love to dance and sing, or even more recently how your belly laugh causes spontaneous giggles in them late at night as they remember you initiating tag with your peers on the playground. Outside of your siblings or myself, I never thought I'd see the day where I had to hold you down to swipe a kiss as you ran off to play with the babysitter's son. I never thought I'd hear how you used your words in class. I hear you screaming "NO!" to your siblings or to me when you just don't want to take orders. We've come SO far. I get to kiss your booboos now without getting shoved away, and you even smirk as you wipe my loving off as I gasp in horror. "How DARE you wipe my loving away!"
I feel your arms wrapped around my neck when you come back from Dad's weekend. I feel all the quietness and "alone" from the weekend. I feel how you had to rely on your siblings as nobody else spoke your "language." I love you sweet, boo. I love you I do and I HEAR YOU. I love everything about your loud silence and how your "voice" says loud and clear that you ARE capable, strong and independent. I love your spirit and your willingness to get creative to have yourself heard. You are my one and only boo-ba-Lou.
Your giggles erupt from your body from somewhere deep inside your little body. You leap up and zoom around the room, jumping from the bed, to the floor and up onto my reading chair just as the cats in the videos do. We have come so far, you and I. When we moved off the property, I had to leave nursing you full time and I felt like you began favoring your father over me. It was a selfish though that left me feeling dirty and guilty, but I did feel that way regardless. As the months passed, I saw your sweet fat baby thighs give way to meaty muscular little legs that ran and toddled from room to room. You advanced so fast from baby to toddler, from toddler to preschooler.
I still remember your father and I, sobbing in both relief and defeat. We had just got the documentation from the Marcus Autism Institute and didn't know which way was up, but we knew that everything changed for you and yet nothing changed ABOUT you. Some doors slammed so hard shut that you could almost hear others on the other side nailing them sealed. Other doors opened and their welcoming lights poured out onto you like answers to prayers we didn't know we had. Therapist after therapist came into our home offering their services and wisdom to you and you drank it up. Words didn't come, but your ways of communication did. And then you graduated from toddler to preschooler. I wasn't ready to put that enormous in comparison backpack on your tiny shoulders. I wasn't ready for 5:30 am wake up calls so I could create a rigid schedule with some semblance of comforting normalcy before getting you on the bus. Coffee made, lunch made, bag organized, zipped and ready to go, outfit with training pants, socks and shoes laid out on my bed. Every morning is the same with the exception of what "bee bee cat" you choose to bring to school with you. You love school, and they wrap you up in their arms while you wrap them around your fingers. I get notes about your curly surfer dude hair, or how you love to dance and sing, or even more recently how your belly laugh causes spontaneous giggles in them late at night as they remember you initiating tag with your peers on the playground. Outside of your siblings or myself, I never thought I'd see the day where I had to hold you down to swipe a kiss as you ran off to play with the babysitter's son. I never thought I'd hear how you used your words in class. I hear you screaming "NO!" to your siblings or to me when you just don't want to take orders. We've come SO far. I get to kiss your booboos now without getting shoved away, and you even smirk as you wipe my loving off as I gasp in horror. "How DARE you wipe my loving away!"
I feel your arms wrapped around my neck when you come back from Dad's weekend. I feel all the quietness and "alone" from the weekend. I feel how you had to rely on your siblings as nobody else spoke your "language." I love you sweet, boo. I love you I do and I HEAR YOU. I love everything about your loud silence and how your "voice" says loud and clear that you ARE capable, strong and independent. I love your spirit and your willingness to get creative to have yourself heard. You are my one and only boo-ba-Lou.
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