the other half of my heart

I've dedicated the lion's share of my writing here to discussing my Little Guy, and there is good reason for that.  The challenges presented by having a special needs child sometimes compel me to drink write.  I'd like to think I don't just blog to whine, but the truth is that when the good times are rolling I'm far less likely to take the time to write.

Today it is neither my special needs son nor whining that is burning on my mind -- it is my youngest son, heretofore referred to as "Baby Boy".  He is 3 now and insistent that he is neither a baby nor a little boy, but in fact a big boy.  I'm going to let him win this one - "Big Boy" he is now.

Earlier this week I picked Big Boy up from preschool.  His teacher dismissed him and he emerged from his classroom like a miniature man in jeans and a little backpack.  It hit me, and hit me hard, how quickly his childhood is passing, like sand slipping through my fingers.  I feel like we somehow haven't been doing enough.  That is one of the beauties of preschool though -- preschool is in many ways a celebration of being little and enjoying all the things that at that age inspire wonder.  I am so thankful that Big Boy gets to be a part of that celebration, and that he has this time away from home when he is Big Boy first and not a little brother.  He gets to be a shining star, all on his own and it suits him well.

It doesn't get easy

It's hard to believe it's been an entire year since Little Guy was diagnosed with autism.  We have come so far and I'm so happy with our progress.   Our efforts of aggressive intervention have paid off with encouraging growth in Little Guy's development. 

Although it is barely spring, I have been preoccupied with Fall and the upcoming school year.  Little Guy will be starting kindergarten and there are some decisions that must be made.  He can continue at the specialized private school where he has made such wonderful progress, or he can attend public school and be in a more mainstreamed classroom with some special assistance.  It is a murky issue, far from settled, and Little Guy's future depends on us choosing wisely.  No pressure. 

 It is also a very emotional issue.

At some point every parent probably has to let go of what they thought their child's life would be.  For some families it might be finding out their child hates sports although they are a passionately sporty family.  Or maybe it's the boyfriend, girlfriend, college or career they choose later on.  We love our kids, we want them to be happy and we can't help but create dreams about their future.

I had this dream, no this collections of dreams, about my Little Guy and his first days/years of school.  Dreams that were lent rich detail from the time I spent teaching at elementary schools.  Letting go of those dreams...difficult is not a strong enough word to describe it. I have to remind myself that there is joy to be found in different dreams.  "Welcome to Holland" continues to provide perspective and solace.

My Little Guy is amazing as he is.  We are blessed and lucky to have him.  I know that.  But I still struggle to accept him as autistic.  I still wish I could change it.  I still try to ignore it and resent reminders of it.  I still have some work to do.

On a less self involved note, this has been a year full of crises and hardships for so many of our loved ones.  The list really goes on and on.  The moral, I guess, is "such is life".  My sweet Little Guy has a future that isn't exactly what I had planned - oh, well!  I just got to this moment as a parent a little earlier than most.

(c) mamaofthevalley 2005-2015

breaking up with our preschool

We enrolled Little Guy in a summer therapy program for autistic kids and it has been amazing for him. We didn't plan for him go there during the regular school year because (a) it is a healthy commute away, (b) we knew insurance coverage would be a battle and it costs $$$ and (c) I felt it was important to keep Little Guy around typically developing peers.

But from the very first week this program started making a big difference for Little Guy. I thought I must have been imagining it, surely there couldn't be such improvement so soon. Then Hubby noted it. Then in the third week Little Guy's speech therapist, who was completely unaware of his participation in the program, commented how he had been blossoming the last few weeks. I finally accepted that we weren't just seeing what we wanted -- this program was truly and dramatically helpful for Little Guy.

We weighed out pros (the obvious benefit to Little Guy) and cons (3 mornings a week in a metro area with Baby Boy and time in need of killing, for one) but the choice seemed obvious. The kiddos well-being will always trump just about everything, and there is no denying the benefits for Little Guy. Baby Boy isn't exactly complaining about weekly trips to the zoo/museum/cool new park either. So inconvenience and cost for Mommy and Daddy aside, continuing on in the program became the winning option.

Then came battles with insurance, which seem to have come to a favorable resolution thanks to the involvement of a benefits advocate. This means the way is clear for Little Guy to continue on with his program. Yay! It also means that I have to let his preschool know that he will not be returning in the fall.

It is one of those bittersweet turns of life. His preschool is fantastic. They are great with kids, have an excellent curriculum and awesome special events. His teachers and the director have been wonderful and kind, not just to Little Guy but to me during one of the most difficult times in my life.

They were the ones that first clued me in that something was amiss with our high-functioning son. I can vividly recall Little Guy's first day of school ever, when his teacher casually commented that Little Guy didn't talk very much. Speech evaluations and therapy followed. It was in the lobby of that preschool one year later that the visiting Early Intervention teacher told me that she believed he was autistic and should be tested. In the weeks that followed the staff offered me kind words of comfort that mattered very much.

Leaving Little Guy's preschool is in many ways like leaving a community. Autism might have put us on the fringes, but we still had one foot in.

But again, this decision isn't about me. It's about what is best for Little Guy.

If I could rewrite reality, Little Guy would not be autistic. He would be starting his next year of regular preschool and thriving there.

In reality, Little Guy did not thrive there. He is not just another kid, and I am not just another mom.

Except...at his program in the city we are perhaps just that.

So dearest old preschool, I will break up with you and leave behind for good my preconceptions of what preschool for Little Guy would be. It is time for us to dive into our new community...hope there's water in that pool!