Indefinitely

Today we received the results of a psychological exam C underwent a few weeks ago, and the first line made me smile: "C is a very handsome, 3-year-5-month old male…" Those words echoed words written in one of his first evaluations: "C is a darling little boy…"

Like the earlier evaluation, this latest one was thorough and contained few if any surprises. However, the very last sentence had the opposite effect of the opening line. It read, "His condition will last indefinitely."

I was sitting at my desk, the words ringing in my ears as if they had been yelled in an echo chamber. I felt the wind go out of me, and that surprised me: I've come to accept the fact that C will always have autism, that this condition isn't going away. I've even come to accept that wishing autism would go away is like wishing C would go away, and I don't ever want that to happen.

I have high hopes for C. I'm very optimistic that with work and love and patience, he will make great strides. I'm not delusional, I understand the reality of his situation, but I've come to love many of the quirks that make C my darling little boy.

And yet a few succinct if accurate words from a trained professional can make me feel like I'm falling apart at the seams...but only for a moment.

Summer's Last Days

We're spending this long Labor Day weekend as we do most weekends: going to playgrounds and parks, running errands together, and visiting friends.

In just a few days the twins will begin attending different schools; it's hard to imagine the boys apart, since they've been together since birth. Nonetheless, we know this is what's best, and we even wonder if the time apart might bring them closer still.

Above: C hams it up in ladies' glasses at Target

In other news, C did two things today that blew me away. Tonight in the bath, as M protested my brushing his teeth, C said, "M doesn't want you to brush his teeth!" It was the first time I'd ever heard him reflect on the feelings or wants of his twin so directly, and it took me by surprise.

The other event involved identical train conductor hats we bought for the boys at Target yesterday. This morning C suddenly bolted upstairs saying he needed to get one of the hats; we had no idea why, since he was already wearing one. When he found it, he ran back downstairs and handed to to M, saying, "You wear it, M!" Again, I've never seen this kind of reciprocity from C toward his brother, so I was thrilled.

The day ended on a slightly less stellar note: C's evening stims have gotten pretty severe. He is completely unable to settle himself, and spins around and around in his bed, thrashing and screaming at the top of his lungs (what must our neighbors think?). His screaming and thrashing is actually starting to frighten M, so we have taken to letting M fall asleep in our bed until C settles down.

We're doing research on ways we can minimize the evening stims, but we know this is a phase and we're just going through a rough patch. Of course with autism, every bump in the road makes you wonder if things are just going to get worse from here, but time has shown us that, overall, C is making progress. We just have to continue working on the problem areas and supporting the good stuff.

A Watchful Eye

C has bad reactions to anesthesia, so the day after his most recent pulmonary function test we ended up in the ER. Everything turned out fine, and we got to witness a special moment when M kept a watchful eye over his twin.

Everyone assures me that, despite outward appearances, our boys have a deep connection. I'm beginning to see the truth in their conviction.

Six Years

One glorious summer evening, near a beautiful lake, and in the company of a few close friends, we exchanged our wedding vows. We were full of hope and joy, picturing a future filled with happy wonder.

Six years have passed, and much of that time has been spent dealing with medical, developmental, and financial issues we never imagined. We haven't had a vacation. We haven't really had a break. And even tonight, our anniversary, we were unable to swing a babysitter and get out for a special dinner, just the two of us.

And yet…

As I sit here, six years later, I realize I wouldn't have it any other way. We have each other, and we have our little family. And despite all that's gone awry, each day is remarkable and beautiful, and I have no doubt the future will amaze us.

Happy Anniversary, Love.

Lining Up

Sometimes C's arrangements of objects are more elaborate, and sometimes they're simple, like these alternating flip-flops I found on the couch tonight.