I don’t know how this whole story ends. I wish I did. Because it would be easier than spending nights awake worrying about where he’s going to go for kindergarten. I don’t know if he will ever eat things that are colored besides popsicles. I really hope that eventually he figures out coats are going to keep him warm, and not a medieval torture device being used to bring him extensive pain. There are so many questions that keep me guessing and wondering and keep a steady supply of xanax within my reach. But what has amazed me lately are the things I do know. 

I know his favorite color is red. I know he likes orange popsicles more than red, but if orange is gone he will accept red. I know his favorite shoes, I know which toy aisle to avoid in Target unless I want a huge meltdown. I know he loves to play outside. I know his favorite shows, and his verbal approximations of them. I know that ABA therapy has been the biggest game changer for him. I know that hearing him scream, no matter the reason, always breaks my heart but I have learned to let him get himself over it. I know that no matter his challenges, my kid is brilliant beyond words. I know he can identify about a dozen words by sight right now, but he cannot tell me if he’s in pain. And you know what? That’s okay. Because no matter how many sleepless nights I have encountered, the thing about this autism adventure is the good has always outweighed the bad. And I am determined to continue to see it that way. It won’t define him, or us.

It was three and a half years before he gave me a good night kiss. I can’t even type those words without tearing up. The emotional investment I have in him and his sister is so vast. I know everyone loves their kids but it’s when the mental image and the dream of what you expected your kids life to look like all come crashing down that you truly start to discover the depths of your love for your kid. You realize that playing varsity football on the high school team doesn’t matter. What matters is that your kid loves you, and is a good person. And all that other stuff? Like being athletic, or a start student, or musically talented? Who really cares in the long run? You don’t list “4.0 in 10th grade” on your resume. And Buddy’s resume won’t be red flagged because he was diagnosed with autism at age two.

I wouldn’t trade this journey for anything. I’ve learned more about myself, and life in the last 3 years than I had in the previous 29 combined.

Six years. How is that possible?

I remember thinking there was no way I could be. But oh I was. And then the unthinkable happened. I really truly was pregnant. I couldn’t even handle myself. I was drinking bottles of tequila, eating ramen noodles, and being 24 years old. Getting pregnant didn’t happen to people like me.

But there it was, plain as day. And there he was- just as scared as I was but ready to strap in and enjoy the ride with me. So we waited and planned and go to know each other better and kept waiting some more. It’s a very surreal process when you go through it for the first time. I never wanted to do this all so young, but I’d tell anyone who’d listen that sometimes things just happen the way they’re supposed to. And it did. He became my rock, the light of my life, and the one person I couldn’t live without. She barreled into our world and change both of our lives. And here we are, six years after the culmination of what I couldn’t believe was happening. Six states away. A younger brother who, while his entrance was more calm and expected than his sister’s, has blazed his own trail and I am honored to be guiding him on this journey. But on this day, this one day that changed the course of our history forever, I look back and am thankful. And grateful. For where we have been and where the world has yet to take us. Buckle up. If the next six are anything like the first six have been, it’s going to be an excellent adventure.