In Addition To Monday

Sleep, I’m by no means caught up on it, but I’m certainly back in the realm of the waking world. Owen slept all night, in his bed, and late. Let’s all rejoice that. He woke, running from room to room looking for me. Once he found me in the kitchen he immediately asked for his teacher. I told him he would see her next week and then my heart immediately sank. I need to start preparing him for next year when he won’t have the same teacher. I have to start on that now. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t ask for some part of his school activities. It’s so hard to explain to him why he can’t have his routine that he loves and thrives on. And here we are a year away from him not having his same teacher and I’m anxious about it. He’s growing so big, losing teeth left and right, and finding his voice to explain his joys and his concerns. He seems to be more aware of his actions and knows what buttons of mine to push and how hard to push them. My mind spins of ways to help my baby and most of all to keep him safe. I watch him walk down the stairs and my heart skips a beat. He will not watch where he is going, turning willy-nilly as he goes down them. I make him walk with me as much as possible, but I’m not sure if that truly helps the process. I ask him to hold onto the rails, but that doesn’t always keep his attention. I’m closer to convincing him to not stick his foot in the car door as I shut it. I have to stay focused on the steps that keep him safe. He is very routine about what he does and if I’m in a hurry or forget one step it throws us both off and it can risk him getting hurt. There is no convincing him there’s danger in the world because he doesn’t understand what that means to him. I hold on to hope because he now is starting to respond to pain. That makes my heart hurt because I am holding on to the hope because he now responds to pain. His cries “did you hurt yourself” when he stubs his toe brings comfort and sadness in the same breath to me. I hold back the tears thinking of those emotions. My son can at least tell me he is hurting. I’ve worried for years that he couldn’t tell me if something was wrong with his socks or what was bothering him. But now the words and emotions are coming. There’s the hope I needed to see for his future and his wellbeing. He fell asleep in my arms last night. He doesn’t do that much anymore. After a good, but an emotional day with him, that moment was exactly what I needed. Autism wasn’t important to me until autism was important to me. I’ve learned so much through the eyes of my child. He’s taught me what unconditional love means. His heart is mine and my heart is his. Remember it can only be one day at a time. Take time for you, be kind to your heart, and know that you are important. Smiles to all and donut daze!