The other day, I pulled out all of the scrapbooks and went through them, remarking at how little The Boy was, and reminiscing. I think some people look through old photos and are wistful for easier times…
I don’t know about other parents with kiddos on the spectrum, but I don’t miss those times. They certainly weren’t easier.
Back then, I had to deal with diapers, until the age of five. Now I have to deal with the toilet clogging on a regular basis (Thank you, Intestinal Surgery!)
Back then, I had to deal with The Boy wandering and getting lost in department stores. Now I have to deal with getting him to get some fresh air and come out of his room.
Back then, he was obsessed with Wubbzy and Mat Man. Now he is obsessed with Sonic the Hedgehog, and the dome lights of cars.
Of course, our history isn’t entirely one of struggle. Luckily, the blessings of that little Boy continue to make him my joy today. He is still (even at thirteen!) affectionate, at least at home. He still has a wonderful sense of humor, and is a lot of fun to be around. He is still able and willing to participate in the world around him (as soon as he finishes his game).
Nope, I don’t miss those days — OK, maybe I miss the smell of a baby, the giggle of a toddler, and the ability to pick him up and carry him out if he started fussing. But I don’t miss not having a single clue about autism, or a single person to talk to about it. I don’t miss the what-ifs and constant worry that is only lessened with experience and time.
I’m not saying it’s easier now. It’s just different. And now, even if I don’t have all the answers, at least I have a clue. 😉