10 little fingers, 10 little toes, 10 little words

I remember that day so clear it could have been yesterday. I was so nervous. It didn't matter that I couldn't eat, cause I wouldn't have wanted too. I couldn't sleep. I was excited and in love. Pure unfiltered emotions. I remember the first little scream and the bright orange hair. My husband still blames me for that! I held this chunky little man in my arms and I was scared to death. I did everything by the book. EVERYTHING!! I was probably the most paranoid first time mom ever. But I was crazy about him. Nothing was good enough for 'my fusser'. Ten little fingers and ten little toes changed my life.

I remember his first bath, his voice when the words 'mi mi' first escaped his mouth. I remember how funny it was to watch him walk with that giant dome of his. I never understood how he just didn't topple over. I remember cars in lines, the inability to touch anything with a funny texture, the first time I thought it would be fun to finger paint, how the picture frames had to always face forward, how much he hated grass and how I had to turn his head for him to look at me when I said his name. I never thought anything about it. That was just how he was and it was fine. The day he leaned over to pick up a piece of side walk chalk and hit his head on the hood of a car so hard that he fell backwards, hit his head on the sidewalk, and then got up and didn't cry. That is when I knew.

At age 2, he could only say 10 words. Yup, 10 words, maybe 11. But I fought with the term 'Autism' because he tried to communicate with me. I just didn't have any clue what he was saying! But children with disabilities don't even try . . . right? Maybe or maybe not. I had him tested and honestly when they brought him in for that first hearing test, I prayed that there was something wrong with his hearing. Is that wrong? To pray that your child has a hearing impairment just so that you don't have to hear the alternative. Maybe that isn't so bad. Crying when I found out his hearing was fine . . maybe that was the bad part.

His therapy started shortly thereafter. His therapist was/is amazing. We will call her . . . Ms. Bond, just cause it sounds cool. To be very honest, I didn't like her at first. She was trying to tell me how to interact with my son. How to play with my son. How dare she assume that I don't know how to play with my son. So why did he have so much fun with her? Why was he so excited to see her? I started to listen. To break down my wall, my guilt, my fears and just listen. And the truth hurt, I didn't know how to play with my son. But now I do . . thanks to her. She fought for him. She believed in him. She saw that smart, funny, happy boy that I saw. And she wasn't going to let him slip away.

Soon therapy went from once a week to 3 times a week and a transition class with other children. My baby started to grow into a toddler that actually talked to me. One night as we were reading 'the chicken book'. His favorite book because Ms. Bond gave it to him, he laughed. And it wasn't that I hadn't heard him laugh before, but this time he laughed AT something funny. IT makes a difference. Then when we shut the book and turned off the lights, this same night, he looked AT me and said 'I love you'. Those words never sounded so amazing. He looked at me, in my eyes . . . .

When you have a child, your dreams are so big. Will he be an astronaut or the President, or a really good pasty chef (:D) or will he just be an amazing dad and a good man? He will graduate with honors way ahead of his class. He of course will play professional sports and have all the ladies, but he will only want to settle for the perfect (And I do mean perfect) one. But when things don't go exactly as planned, it makes you wonder.

I try to enrich his day with words and imaginative play. With drawing and coloring, body work and all the 'text book' things that you are supposed to do with a child with delays. Once again, with the books. Oh how I wish Ms. Bond was ringing our doorbell now!

There are days when the rain hits the window. I love the rain. It's relaxing and calming and then I hear him scream. This little boy balled up on his bed rocking and covering his ears begging me to make the sound stop. I can't. I just hold him. At that moment, I am not his therapist, I am just his mom. And I cry too.

I know it will be okay. Well, I hope it will be okay. He is too wonderful for it not to be okay.

But just like that day when I first held him . . there are moments. Moments when I hold him so tight and am so scared.

"I love you my buddy." "I love you too Mommy" - 10 little words.