I long for a fresh start. Not for another child, but rather a time machine that would allow me to relive my experience with the one I have. This thought is a challenging truth that weighs heavily on me as a parent of a child with autism. I often grapple with it silently because, 1) it’s impossible, so why dwell on it? and 2) it somewhat undermines the remarkable progress my child has made and his unique spirit.
I wish I could return to the days of infancy, blissfully oblivious to the challenges that lay before us. I want to believe that the sleepless nights will eventually come to an end and that potty training will happen sooner rather than later—so I won’t be changing wet sheets before my morning coffee (which, by the way, is followed by a mid-morning cup, a lunch break brew, and then coffee for the rest of the day just to keep my eyelids open).
I desire for my child to be on equal footing with his peers. Sometimes, I forget that children his age engage in activities he either cannot or simply chooses not to. While it’s heartwarming when he still calls me “Mommy” and reaches for my hand in public, it stings to see other kids playing games while he remains content with the same Thomas the Tank Engine trains that they probably outgrew years ago. I find myself thinking, “Those kids must be ahead of the curve,” when, honestly, I have no idea what milestones he should be hitting at this age.
I don’t want to navigate the alphabet soup of diagnoses—ASD, ADD, SPD, IEP—and just wish I could buy him a box of Alphabits cereal and hear him mimic the sounds I would make while he sat in his high chair as a toddler. Instead, he just stares at me and tosses the cereal to the dog. (Let’s be honest; he probably would have done that anyway. That poor dog sure kept the floor around that high chair spotless.) I also don’t want him to begin speaking words only to lose them, as he has in the past.
The labels regarding functioning levels are frustratingly subjective and, frankly, often nonsensical in our context. Yes, my child can hear musical notes played on a guitar and replicate them on the piano, yet he struggles with tying his shoes. Where does that put him in the grand scheme of things? People often react strongly to these labels, but we still need some way to describe our experiences. I suppose these terms are here to stay, at least until someone comes up with a new branding. (“Same Great Autism Flavor. Now with less stimming!”)
I wish I didn’t have to appear like a helicopter parent. I would love to be able to scout out new places to assess safety risks instead of feeling the need to plan every detail in advance. I wish I could just drop my kid off at birthday parties or sports practices, like some parents do. It’s wild to think that some people can simply enjoy a day at the beach while I’m constantly watching my child sprint toward the ocean. Some parents even bring books to read—fascinating, right?
I can want that fresh start. I can hold these feelings while simultaneously feeling guilty for having them. They coexist in my mind. I wish for those blissful moments of ignorance combined with the knowledge of what’s to come, hoping I might catch the signs earlier next time. Then perhaps I could come to terms with it more swiftly.
I wouldn’t mind facing simpler judgments. Who cares that I didn’t prepare homemade organic baby food? He ate, and he’s fine. The judgments of new parenthood seem trivial compared to what I face now. At the end of the day, other babies didn’t care about my choices, even if their parents did. I recognize that someone with autism might read this and feel upset or offended. I apologize for any pain my words may have caused, but my feelings are valid. I am entitled to my pain just as much as anyone else is.
I can’t help but want that fresh start. Perhaps I’d cherish those early moments a bit more, or approach parenting with a more relaxed attitude instead of fixating on diaper brands and other trivial matters. Maybe I’d hold him a little closer, singing just one more verse of “Ba Ba Black Sheep” while he slept in my arms. If only I had known how crucial Ore Ida fries would become to us, I would have invested in them.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Anna Wells expresses a longing for a fresh start in her parenting journey with her child on the autism spectrum. She grapples with the complexities of parenting, the challenges of navigating diagnoses, and the desire for simpler times. Anna acknowledges her feelings of wanting a do-over while recognizing the progress her child has made. The article also addresses the judgments parents face and the emotional weight of parenting a child with unique needs, ultimately highlighting the coexistence of hope and reality.