the beginning

It started when Kyrie was around 2 years old. Even as a first time mom, something just wasn't right. Where other toddlers were jabbering away, we were still waiting for her first word. The pediatrician reassured us that she was a preemie and speech issues were normal, but referred us to an early intervention program. She learned a few signs, and we got her first word. A year later she transitioned into the local school district. She went to two full years of Preschool, complete with speech and occupational therapy. According to their evaluations she had a "speech delay" and she would "most likely outgrow it."

Then came Kindergarten. I think it was her first week there that I finally admitted to myself that I didn't believe them. Her inability to relate to her peers, the emotional outbursts, her inability to run like a normal kid... this wasn't a simple speech delay.

I brought up my concerns to the school. The look on her teacher's face spoke volumes... we were on the same page. Autism. I wanted to deny it. I tried to talk myself out of believing it. In fact I couldn't even bring myself to get the official testing done. The school year was a roller coaster ride. She gained skills, she lost skills, she had kids refuse to be her friend, and she found one who understood. I forced the word Autism out of our lives.

It happened on a regular summer day as I was trying to help her complete a little review sheet of her letters. "I stupid! I dumb! I can't do it!" she screamed. My heart broke. Right then I decided I was going to proactively do whatever I could do help her, starting with an official diagnosis. I scoured the internet, called testing centers, scheduled an appointment with her pediatrician, and learned everything I could. Then came the tentative answer. Six little letters PDD-NOS. My child has Autism.

It's hard to describe the love/hate relationship I have with Autism. It's hard to deal with a diagnosis that doesn't have a cure - to know that this is something that she will deal with for the rest of her life. Things other parents take for granted, are our triumphs. Then I begin to wonder if I would want a cure. Autism is part of who she is, and she is extraordinary.

Do I cry myself to sleep some nights wondering if she will realize her dreams of getting married and "writing kid books?" Yes. Do I want to scream at parents that stare and whisper when she has a meltdown at the store because something wasn't stacked correctly in the cart? Yes. Do I want to smack kids that refuse to be her friend and laugh at her? Yes. Do I worry endlessly about my other daughter and the things she gives up for the word Autism? Yes. Is there anything I can do to change those six little letters? No. So we'll take it one day at a time and do it the best we can.