Snap at a friend and they dismiss it. Do the same to your kid, they'll bring it up at Thanksgiving when you're 60.
Suddenly, you're no longer Zack Morris. You're now Mr. Belding.
The scariest thing about being a newly diagnosed special needs parent is that you're a newly diagnosed special needs parent.
Not only do things change, but people do. I did. You probably have too.
Of course, if you asked, I would have told you I was a "realist". That's the term that someone uses to dance around the fact that they're really a self-hating pessimist.
The absence of language can seem like a major barrier and, in some ways, it can be. In most ways, though, it's not.
You will be both on a pedestal and under a magnifying glass all at once. It will last for the rest of your lives.
Teach them to fear Styrofoam and they will cower at packing peanuts forever unless someone shows them how you were wrong. Teach them to fear people and the same thing will happen.
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.
It's like being the best barber in the shop and finding out that, in six months, your job will also include competitive Frisbee and candle-making.