The moment you’d let your guard down, he would take off across the yard. The next thing you know, you’re tackling a preschooler on your front lawn.
Having Autism or any special needs doesn’t mean the absence of personality or humor. All of his quirks – good and bad – are his and I love him.
The absence of language can seem like a major barrier and, in some ways, it can be. In most ways, though, it’s not.
There’s nothing more frustrating than telling someone about your child’s special needs and being greeted with an immediate inquisition on potential things they think you could have done to cause them.
For many, my son having “special needs” means focusing on the things he can’t do. It overshadows many of the powerful things he can.
How can I allow my school-aged child with autism to still play with a toy designed for a toddler? Doesn’t that go against the very nature of my job?
Will there be overwhelming events for my non-verbal son? Sure. Will there be judgmental people? Definitely. Are they the norm and do they define who we are or what we do? Not at all.
The hardest thing about my non-verbal son’s first day of school was sending him alone on that bus.
You stop caring about what people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.
Surely he’d talk by three. When three came and went, it was surely four. It was a never ending cycle of “everything will be different next year.”