Sight Reading

Yesterday we witnessed something amazing: C is able to sight-read some words, and then match them to images. (This is the first time C has done this exercise with his ABA therapist; ironically, the point of the exercise was to help him with fine motor skill such as holding paper, not reading.) These are words C likes to spell, so he's already familiar with them. Nonetheless, he's seeing the words out of context and attaching meaning to them. In other words, pre-reading.

I know that when I tell people about this, some of them will think, "Well, there's more proof he's smart and maybe just a little unusual." It can be frustrating having to constantly explain that, yes, my son has some abilities that are beyond his 3.25 years of age, but in other areas he has severe deficits. People tend to assume average to better-than-average cognitive abilities mean there are no serious problems.

Nonetheless, I am thrilled with this development: it is heartening to know that despite the deficits, he has a great brain hard at work.

A Different Story

When I came home tonight, C was standing quietly by the window arranging his cars just so. This is nothing new: he often moves objects around, reconfiguring them until they match some picture in his mind.

When I ask C about his cars, there is no imaginative story of a freeway or traffic jam or people on their way to work. There is only the patient process of arrangement.

Of course, I can't help but look at the cars and see the pattern he's created: from left to right, police car / 3 cars / police car / 3 cars / two buses. If he didn't create patterns all the time, I might consider it a coincidence, but I know now that it's like his own morse code, a message to himself or the rest of the universe.

While I still wish C could tell me a story about his cars, I am coming to accept that the cars are telling me a story about my son.

Happy Mother's Day

We knew from our first hospital stay this wasn't going to be easy, but I'm thankful every day to have you as my partner on this journey. As involved as I may be, I know the majority of this burden falls to you, and I am forever grateful.

Dancing Hands

Evincing a common autism trait, my son's hands are always on the move, fingers bending or stiffening, balled up or widely splayed, seemingly living a life of their own.

When he's excited, he flattens his hands and pats downward on some invisible surface. When I walk with him, it's as though the hand he's offered me enjoys the quiet comfort of being clutched in my own. Even at rest his fingers strike the pose of those about to tickle ivories, or they find themselves holding something — anything — just to keep themselves occupied.

Of the outward signs of autism I've come to worry about, these dancing hands and their endless explorations do not bother me so much. They seem to reflect all the curiosity and energy and joy that characterize C himself.

These hands dance because of autism.

I'm coming to develop an unexpected gratitude for these small gifts bestowed upon us when it seems as though others have been taken away.

Breaking the Bank

Tonight M (my neurotypical son) said, "I want to go to the bank with my piggy bank and get a lot of money to give to you so you can stay home with C all the time and I can play with Mommy all the time." His words stand as a reminder to me: never underestimate how much these little ones pick up, how aware they are of what's happening around them.