Not Ready to Miss It

I spent Wednesday of last week touring another Autism center with Eli. I think it is a good fit for him. Where he is currently is amazing. I love the staff. What they have done for our little giant ... I don't have the words for my gratitude. There is no form of repayment. Nothing I can do to give them what they have given our family. But it's time for a change. Something calmer, something our whole family can take part in. Something that isn't a 45-60 minute drive each way, three days a week.

Something that will best prepare him for Kindergarten.

And that's where I lose it a bit. Eli has always been small and when he interacts with people, it's easy to think he's younger than he is. I think I have found too much comfort in that - especially in the last year and a half.

He is very much my baby. I am grateful for his cuddling, grateful for the silly, baby voice he does. I am grateful that I can carry him on my hip and swaddle him like he's so much younger than he is.

I am grateful. So very grateful.

But I am torn.

Because he isn't a baby. He isn't even a toddler. He's closer to five than he is to three and that is hardest for me.

Because to be a good mom, to be a good advocate for him, I know I need to prepare him. That his prep for mainstream school is prep-work. I know that if I am going to ask a teacher to love him and embrace him and give him a chance, it's only fair for me to do everything in my power to not hinder him from being the most ready. To treat him the age he is rather than the age he seems. I can't ask someone else to do that if I won't.

But...

... he's my last baby. I thought I would be okay with that. I thought I would be okay with that until the second doctor looked at me and told me (just like the first) that he had to be. When it isn't up to you ... when you don't get to choose ...

He's my last baby and he is so very much my baby - the way he reaches up to be held, the way he cuddles, the way he giggles. He is so much my baby. To be his advocate I need to acknowledge that he's so much more than that. To be a good momma I need to help him succeed and win his small victories and reach the goals he needs for what is to come.

Every logical part of me knows that. I know that.

But every time someone asks, "Are you having any more kids?" or "Are you going to try for a girl?" I cuddle with him a little longer.  I know I have innocently asked those same questions.

I don't ask anymore.

I know how it hurts. How you feel the little crack tapped into your heart when you politely say "who knows" to save awkwardness or simply say "we can't" and then feel badly for making anyone feel uncomfortable with the response.

They grow so quickly. Even when they don't grow much at all, even when everything about them screams that they are three when they are closer to five ... time goes so quickly.

Logan asked me not to kiss him a couple weeks ago outside of school. He gave me a high-five and a hand-squeeze instead. I'm so proud of him. So, so proud of him but I know Eli isn't far behind. And that's our hope ... that he is right in step. That his joy and strengths and "smarts" stick with him but that he one day says, "No more kisses, Mom," as he runs off with a friend. With every part of me I want that for him. Every part of me wants that.

But it's happening so fast. I didn't know I needed to be ready for this. I didn't know that Eli's first steps would be our last first steps. That his "first birthday" cupcake would be our last "first birthday" cupcake. That the last time he sat in his high chair would be the last time one of our babies sat in that high chair.

I didn't know it was the last time.

I didn't know.

They tell you it goes so quickly. Blink and they are going to kindergarten, to homecoming, to college. Blink and you'll miss it.

I'm not ready to miss it.

Among Friends

I talk often about the importance of relationships in this life. I've talked about how important I think the word "relationship" is rather than just "friendship". 

You build relationships with people in this life. People you only know for a short time who take root in you. Who become a vital part of your journey. Who connect in a way that there just aren't words for. 

People who, at some point, this life will separate you from but somehow that doesn't matter. It hurts like hell and you say too many "see you soons" but somehow this short period means more than distance.

This post was supposed to be our "family time post". C isn't in harms way. There is no threat of deployment looming for us here. But, still, he is gone more than he is home certain months. At an Army post where nearly every activity is done as "couples" it is so strange to be the one whose husband is not here. It is strange to be in a place where you are the "odd" one because your spouse seems to be "always gone". (He isn't "always gone" but sometimes it sure can seem like he is).  I am grateful that he loves his new job. He has really found "his place". This change was terrifying and difficult and overwhelming and I am so thankful that we both know now that it was the right one. 

This is also the first year juggling the schedule of a kiddo on the Autism spectrum. It's demanding and tiring and humbling. 

In eight short months people have been placed in our lives that have pushed us through. In so many ways, they have walked Eli's path with us. They have seen what Autism is for him - what it is for our family. They were with me days after he was diagnosed. They have encouraged me. They have strengthened me. They have learned with me.

They have quietly waited while Eli and I fought through meltdowns. They have reminded me of my own new mantra of "no apologies" when I automatically apologized for stepping away from a conversation, or moving Eli away from their kiddos, or correcting harm done. 

Women I didn't know a year ago who have loved my children with a fierceness I would never expect.

Today, during a birthday party at a nearby ranch, one of these women convinced me to let Eli ride a horse. Eli, my nonstop, sensory-seeking, will-run-into-walls-for-stimulation kiddo, wanted to ride an animal that could crush him in an instant. "H" promised me she would walk with him, stay right beside him. She nudged me to try something that scared me for him and she promised that it would be okay. The moment Eli was on that horse you could see a change. His entire body went still. He sat there and listened to the trainer (who I later found out is currently undergoing the certification process for equine therapy to work with kiddos on the spectrum) and let her guide his feet into the stirrups. 

As they circled, H stuck right by my little giant as he quietly talked to the horse. I couldn't sit down as I slightly paced and watched his entire demeanor calm. I continually blinked back tears as I watched my good friend praise him and say the same things she has heard me say. I nearly lost it in the very beginning when - as he sat there taking everything in around him - she asked him, "Where are mommy's eyes?" - the very thing we ask when we try to bring him back into our world. 

She knows me. She knows my children. 

No one else there could have known the significance of those few minutes. No one else could know what it took for me to let him go and to give up that control. No one else could know why a three-year-old calmly riding a horse could bring tears to his mother's eyes. 

My dear friend knew and I am so grateful we were able to share in the beauty of that together. 

We build relationships with people rapidly because we have to. Our time together is too short. This life demands so much of us. We need each other. I strongly, strongly believe people are put before us for a reason. That relationships are vital to thriving in this life. That we do not do this alone. 

I am so thankful for those placed before me. I am so thankful to be part of this community.

I am so thankful to know such incredible women. 

Meet Eli, the Little Giant. 

He's pointing at "Mommy's Eyes". So very special. Love you, H.

Pieces of the Puzzle

Eli is sitting in my lap right now cuddling which makes it incredibly challenging to type. He is content where he is for the moment and I am sure soon he will move on to something else. I am grateful that he is so affectionate. I am so heart-fully grateful that he cuddles and holds onto me and loves me and lets me tickle him and rub his hair and all of those beautiful mommy/kiddo things that a mother should do and that a child should accept. I am most grateful today because today wasn't supposed to happen yet. Today wasn't supposed to happen at all. 

Or it was supposed to happen after three or four evaluations. They were supposed to look at my little  and say he was fine. That he was just like every-other-barely-three-year-old out there. Sometime after today, sometime after many todays, they were supposed to tell me he was okay. 

Today a very kind and absolutely wonderful child psychologist was supposed to play with my Eli and give him the all clear or tell us we needed to do this again and maybe again to get a bigger picture - like what they told me at the start. 

Today I was not supposed to sit in an office surrounded by toys that all serve an evaluative purpose and hear a diagnosis. 

That wasn't supposed to happen today. 

At least not to me. That wasn't how I planned it. This wasn't how C planned it. I didn't want to have to tell him over the phone while he sat in an airport outside D.C. waiting to spend two weeks at Fort Stewart. I wanted him to be here. I wanted him to be sitting beside me, holding our son. I didn't want him to have to be. I didn't want to hear this. How do you process? How do you listen and take it in when you weren't expecting it. 

On the drive home, I put my whole heart into finding the good. Into seeing the bigger picture. Into understanding why we were here, why this was happening, what this would mean. Driving along the little highway in the middle of no where, going up and down the hills, up and down, I understood how grateful I am for this place, how much the puzzle pieces come together. I am grateful - for the first time - truly, truly grateful for this career change for C. I am grateful that we should be in one place for a significant amount of time. I am grateful that he will be here - both on American soil but also home every night, at a reasonable time, on a consistent basis. I am grateful that before we could know the plan, this was placed before us. I am grateful that we made this decision. I am grateful that in a chaotic lifestyle, in an emotional lifestyle, we can offer a child who will very much need routine and structure and the physical presence of both of us ... that we can give him that. That we can start this very challenging road physically together, without wondering when the next move is, where we will go, how this will all happen. 

One in ninety military kiddos. One in ninety are diagnosed with Autism. 

I am grateful that this diagnosis - if there had to be a diagnosis - came quickly enough that we can not waste any time. That we can start the process. That we don't have to wait. 

I am grateful. 

Even when it seems like too much, you are given just what you can handle. I do not believe you are ever given something that is more than you are able to thrive through. I don't believe we are given anything that isn't meant to teach us and grow us and bring us closer to our Maker. In all things there is a reason to give praise, a reason to rejoice.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13

And never has He failed me.