I Am an Autism Mom

What does that mean? We all have heard of someone who has an autistic child.  Before my son was born, I was a nanny for an autistic child and worked in a preschool program for special needs children.  I found my work exhausting and rewarding as I challenged myself to help these sweet children break through the confinement of their disability.  I did not accept, even in my first exposures to special needs children, that these children could not beat the odds and reach their full potential, whatever that may be.

I experienced priceless successes although I  was untrained, straight out of high school and had no background in special education.  I often remember the boy who refused to eat outside his diet of chicken nuggets, french fries, Oreos, chocolate milk and Hawaiian Punch.  He learned to eat fruits, drink water and eat more of what the family ate.  The memory of working with a girl who was four years old who had never spoken is also engrained in my memory.  I was privileged enough to hear her first words and work with her daily to gain confidence in speaking.  Little did I know what awaited me.  I believe that God prepares us for our missions in life.

In my twenties, I married the man of my dreams.  Eighteen months later, we welcomed our first born son into the world.  "C" was an amazing soul; I could feel it.  I knew without a doubt that he was a very special child.  Three days after he was born, the baby blues hit.  Lack of sleep and hormones caught up with me.  I laid in bed a sobbed.  "C" looked up at me and clicked his tongue.  I teach all of my babies to click their tongue when they are hungry, rather than cry.  All three had this down pat within 24-48 hours of birth. As I went to feed "C" I was blown away as he latched on, but this time he did not suck.  Instead, he gazed deeply into my eyes as if with the wisdom of the ages, the compassion of a veteran of hardship and an unmistakable love that pierced my very being.  He was comforting me in the way that I comforted him when he cried.  How could a new born be so selfless?

 I could not deny that my son was special, but I learned to keep my feelings to myself.  I was a young, first time mom.  Of course I thought my baby was special!  Didn't every first-time mom think the same thing?

As the minutes ticked away and hours became days and then weeks, I became engulfed in the reality of my new life.  I would not sleep through the night again for seven-and-a-half years.  My baby cried day and night.  He would not let me put him down.  The only way he would sleep was across my neck for about twenty minutes before the crying started again.  My nights followed a pattern of twenty minutes of sleep - thirty if I was lucky - followed by two or three hours of pacing the halls and trying every trick in the book to get my baby to sleep. Then it started all over again.  I was sleeping  two to four hours a day in twenty minute increments.  I asked doctors, friends, family members and everyone I could think of what I should do.  I was told that some babies are just colicky and that I he would grow out of it. I was a "complainer" and an "exaggerator".  It became difficult to wear a smile in public.  I couldn't engage in chit chat.  I was focused on survival and anything else seemed irrelevant and a distraction from my drive for answers.

 I became a hollow shell of who I once was.  I went through the motions and felt a loss of my identity.  My talents, skills, accomplishments and hobbies didn't matter any more.  I cared for my baby with the same veracity and creativity with which I helped other children in the past, but nothing was changing.  Something was wrong.  I began to lose friends and acquaintances.  It felt like everyone in my life rolled their eyes at me.  I only had one kid while others had several.  My life couldn't be as hard as I said it was.  I just needed to get my act together.  Suck it up; it's only one kid.  They did not believe that there was anything different or more difficult about my child than any other child.  I felt labeled, blown off and unwanted.  I would spend the next six years, feeling judged, pushed away and left to survive mostly on my own.

My husband worked an average of 80 hours per week and traveled fifty percent of the time.  He had no idea what my life was like and was overwhelmed by my narrowness of conversation which came as a pleading for help and expression of exhaustion, discouragement, and loss of self.  As wonderful as he was, I was dragging him down. The last thing he needed when he came home from his stressful job was a wife who could no longer keep the house clean, be all done up when he came home and have a pleasant smile on her face.  Instead, he came home to me un-showered, without makeup, sitting in a messy house with a tear-stained face.  My heart aches for how he must have felt.  It was not fair to him.  It was not fair to me either.  What had I become?  Where was the fun, driven, well kept, spontaneous woman he had married?

Over the next couple years, my marriage became rocky, which is common with autism families.  We couldn't go on a date or have a normal conversation. Watching a movie or going out to a restaurant was no longer enjoyable at best, a nightmare at worst.  No one would babysit for us because as soon as we left we were called to come back.  "C's" behavior was overwhelming even to wonderful, seasoned parents and great babysitters.  It would be over three years before we could leave him with a baby sitter for one hour.

I never gave up.  I never stopped searching and pouring my heart out in prayer and trying everything I could think of to bring a smile to my son's face, teach him skills, and help him to progress.  I gave everything I had while other moms were watching TV, scrapbooking and going on girls weekends, I was researching, and working literally day and night to help my child.

 Why was it so hard to be a mom?  Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a mother.  I still have a plate that I made in second grade.  We were supposed to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up.   My plate proudly proclaims, "I wan't to be a mom!".  I'm sure some of you will view my aspirations as pathetic and less than noteworthy, but it's what I was born to be.  From a young age, I helped to mother my younger siblings. I babysat extensively through my teen years and was a nanny to two families.  I took notes on what I learned from many families, gathered all the information and good advice I could,  and vowed to implement my findings one day when I was a mother.  Children meant the world to me and I wanted to make a difference in the lives of any children that I might be blessed with.  *To be continued*