This ain't Holland.

I had to subtitle the blog this. If you've ever had a special needs child, you know what I'm talking about. This dreaded poem. Don't ever send me this poem and tell me that having a child with autism is "just different".
Ben was diagnosed when he was 23 months old- it was scary, for sure, but I thought we could just get the recommended therapies and all would be well. Four months later, it all hit me like a two ton pile of bricks. Previously his main symptom was developmental delays- things that he did not do- no talking, no pointing, little joint attention. But when the stimming and hand flapping started, I lost it. I brought him to the doctor sobbing asking for help. (To be fair, it was not his regular doc that we saw that day, so to her I'm just a hysterical mother.) She was sweet and kind but she said that having a child with special needs is "just different" and that I needed to look at the bright side- he was healthy. And maybe I should think about taking some meds (for myself!) She ended the visit with saying that there is a poem about raising a special needs child. I already knew about this poem because I have a degree in psychology and had previously worked with families- heck I probably handed it out to some poor unsuspecting mom. I went home that day to google the poem and read it again. The optimist in me felt so much better. I could do different!
Three years later, I'm pretty sure this is nothing like Holland. I still have a good outlook on life. I'm still an optimist. I still believe people are generally good. I still have lots of hope for the future. I still believe my son is awesome in many ways. I adore his quirks and his smile and I love him to the depths of the ocean and up to the moon just the same as I do my other two children. But mothering a child with autism is 5 billion times harder than raising a child with no autism. It is not just different, it is really really hard.

My favorite poem

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird—
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Starting up.

I have always wanted to start blogging about some of my experiences, particularly with raising my son with autism. I like to write but I never know quite where to start. I think it is that perfectionist in me staring a blank page and thinking about how to make it just so. Then I tuck it away for another time because there is nothing to say and everything to say. Also, I have looked back at previous journals I have written and have felt ashamed. Was I truly that ignorant? The worst part was that I thought I knew everything. I had all the answers. But I know that is a part of the process of life and developmentally typical for a 20-something. At least now I realize that I am constantly growing. These are just my opinions. The opinions of a 34 year old mom who has a lot to learn. Shared with whomever wants to read. *gulp*