ABA

Little Bear has done very well with his current ABA therapist through Early Intervention. She has him following rules, concentrating on one task, improving his joint attention, and communicating much better than he was previously. He’s always ready to work when she comes in and it took him months to get to that point.

On May 10th, ABA therapist and I had a bit of an exchange over text message. I asked if she would be able to switch one or both of his days to the afternoons so he could attend a special needs preschool program that wouldn’t allow her to perform therapy on site since they have their own therapists. She responded saying she had 2:15PM open. We had a bit of a heated conversation in which I said that a 2:15 therapy time for a 2 year old is basically throwing away his hour because it’s right smack in the middle of his nap time. She ended by saying I was misunderstanding and this was not an obligatory change – we would be able to keep everything as is or, if I chose, she could find me a different therapist with a more open schedule. I said no, I wanted to keep everything as it was since he hasn’t been enrolled yet anyway and we’d figure it out when the time came.

Today, I received a call from ABA Company saying she would no longer be Little Bear’s therapist because she’s a supervisor and her schedule no longer permits her to see patients. I flipped out. I really, truly flipped out. I felt bad for the woman who called me. She transferred me pretty quickly to a conference call with the owner and the therapist.

First, the therapist tried to gaslight me and say she said that we had discussed this in May. I said no, I have the text in front of me, and I read it out loud. I said, “My son has two months left until transition. That is literally how long it takes for him to become used to a new therapist. You gave us absolutely no indication or warning that you were leaving him. You’ve cancelled three appointments in the past month and have only made up two. We’ve been extremely understanding and extremely accommodating to your schedule and now you can’t even do Little Bear the favor of finishing out his transition?”

ABA therapist continued to cite her schedule, her schedule, her schedule, but schedules are not made overnight. I’m receiving a call on a Thursday saying that she’s not available, effective Monday. I waited three months for Little Bear to get these hours initially, but there are suddenly two therapists for me to choose from for him to see? No, this is lack of professionalism at its worst.

After listening to them try to say she was acting in an appropriate manner and that my child will continue to develop, I finally said I just had to hang up. They were not listening to my concerns. They were explaining them away, telling me how wonderfully he’d do, but he’s autistic. And two. And does horribly with transitions. And so they’re transitioning him to a new ABA therapist exactly at the point when he started getting past his issues from the tubes falling out two months ago and then she’s going to leave him so he can transition into public school in August. It’s complete heartless bullshit that puts my Little Bear last and does not take his progress and well-being into consideration. And I told them as such. They offered to have ABA therapist attend two or three sessions with New ABA therapist. I literally laughed and said, “Are you serious? I don’t want her in my house again. She’s hurting my child’s progress and has behaved in the most unprofessional manner possible. She told me two weeks ago that she would continue with him and now she’s leaving him with less than 2 working days notice. No, I do not want her anywhere near my son. She shouldn’t be a supervisor if these are the traits she’s going to pass down to other therapists.”

I cried. I cried buckets for Little Bear. He was doing so well and now he’s going to regress. I just got him approved for ABA therapy through Medicaid and confirmed a very difficult schedule for him starting next week. Now instead of having three five hour days and two other days to schedule OT, PT, and SLP on, I’m stuck with two 4.5 hour days and three 2 hour days with his other therapists upset because they’ve been pushed out of their normal slots.

Overall, I’m just upset that an agency that deals exclusively with autistic children would have so little concern with giving adequate time for transitions or making sure children who are close to aging out aren’t put under the stress of two changes in under 2 months.

New ABA therapist comes tomorrow afternoon. The owner called again in the evening and kept telling me how great he’s going to do.

He’s not going to do great. But at least I can do it in the afternoon and help his other therapists out by opening up a prime morning hour.

The stages of grief

I’ve been in the acceptance phase of Little Bear’s diagnosis for a long time now. I spent weeks crying, blasting my self-soothing music, crying, “Why my son? Why my baby?” at absolutely no one. I mourned his differences as if I had lost a child. I did lose a child. But in losing the child I imagined he was, I began to meet, love, and adore the child he is.

This morning we started our homeschool sessions. I think everything went well except for table time. We definitely need to work on table time. His ABA therapist came at ten and he did a wonderful job reading books with her and taking breaks before transitioning back to his assigned activities. She gave me ideas on how to organize his day and get him to do what he needed to do. When she left, I felt very positive about his future. He knew at least two words on every page of the Dr. Seuss ABC book, he named my sister, my mother, and my mother in law and he asked for food every time he wanted it. To me, it was a very successful day.

I filled out his transition papers for preschool. I requested a special needs school with complete knowledge and acceptance that this is what my son needs. It was a good day.

My husband has also gone through stages, but today was not a good day for him. Little Bear was rolling his head back, not answering to his name, and being generally disinterested in anything my husband said or did with him. On Mondays and Wednesdays I teach at night, so I wasn’t there to help get him back on track or figure out why he was derailed at dinner/bedtime.

I came home late from work. I had papers to grade and tests to write and I always work more efficiently from my office or a classroom compared to my home. I came in and my husband was on the couch, classical music playing, feeling very down. He had been reading about ASD and was full of questions, the biggest one being: Why our son? Why our family?

He broke my heart more than once during the conversation, although I didn’t tell him. The first time was when he said he didn’t want to have any more children because of the risk that another one could have ASD. I very much want a third child and Little Bear isn’t confirmed ASD yet. He has ASD-like symptoms, but his neurologist is heavily leaning towards delayed myelination. Since delayed myelination isn’t genetic, I see no reason not to have a third child. I want a third child. I very much want to have a third child in the next year.

As he kept saying what pre-occupies him and what scares him and what his fears about the future were, I tried to remind him repeatedly that our little bear is not a lost cause. Looking at where he should be cognitively, he hits every single milestone except following two-step directions. When looking at what a 3 year old does cognitively, he does everything except turning a doorknob and playing make believe. His delays are purely linguistic and social in nature. I have no doubt Little Bear will eventually mainstream once his language skills take off. How easy school will be for him is another question. My husband doesn’t seem to share those feelings. He fears Little Bear will be in a home and need constant care for life. I just don’t see that happening. His language was at an 11 month level 6 months ago. He tested at 18 months two months ago and he has gained an avalanche of words and phrases since then. He’s potty training on schedule like a neurotypical 2 year old. In other words, he’s making progress.

That wasn’t the moment that broke me, though. I asked him if he’d rather an autistic Little Bear or no Little Bear. The obvious response should be, “Autistic Little Bear.” His response was, “Please don’t ask me that.” My heart broke in that moment. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces because, while I’d love Little Bear to be able to walk through this world as comfortable as possible, the idea of this world moving on without him is a possibility I would never want to consider.

Then came the argument of secrecy. My husband does not like to tell people Little Bear is autistic. I tell people all the time. I really don’t see it as a big deal. I tell family. I tell strangers. I tell anyone that wonders why my 2.5 year old acts like an 18 month old. I think it’s better to be honest and have them treat him with kindness and empathy than have them think we’re awful parents. My husband has not told the vast majority of his family. He says, “I don’t see why they need to know. It’s private.” To me “private” means “embarrassing.” His family is “private” about anything and everything that can cause discomfort. I am not. This is a continual collision point in our marriage and I see it continuing to be so as we move forward with Little Bear’s treatment.

So now we’ve gone from having a venting conversation to not talking because I’m too public about Little Bear’s diagnosis. And that, too, breaks my heart.

Strike 2

Little Bear got kicked out of Fancy Religious Child Care Center on Thursday.

No shock there, but Papi Bear took it very hard. He was pretty messed up about it all day.

Special Needs Child Care center will be able to accommodate us the second week of June for their summer program. I have to call back on Monday when the director returns to see where he is on the wait list for the regular program.

I have to admit there were some tears when I explained how much it hurt that Little Bear wouldn’t have friends anymore. Maybe that moved us up. Fingers crossed.

Until then… Little Bear Home School goes into session on Monday at 7AM.

Look, Mommy! It’s Little Bear!

We were running around the playground playing monster. Mama Bear being chased by Little Bear and Big Bear, although Little Bear inevitably ended up behind and the chased. Lots of laughs and giggling, but then Little Bear tired of the game and decided to walk around and play alone, as he often does.

Screen Shot 2017-04-08 at 1.05.59 PM“That’s Little Bear!” I thought I heard a voice yelling.

Nah, it must be another Little Bear.

But I heard it again and again. And a mother confirming her daughter’s comments.

There was a little girl on the playground who knew Little Bear from Fancy Child Care Center. I introduced myself as his mother and talked to the child’s mother for ten or fifteen minutes. I apologized for my son’s disinterest in her daughter and let her know that he had ASD. She said she understood, although it was quite apparent from later comments that she didn’t. She revealed to me that her daughter had been one of his biting victims, although, seeing Little Bear’s delays, she didn’t seem especially upset by it. She brushed it off as, “She came home saying, ‘Little Bear was mean to me!’ and I told her that I know she’s been mean, too, and so have her friends.”

I explained about the ear tubes and their effect on his behavior. She asked who his ENT was because her daughter needed them. I gave her his name and information and she said she’d heard wonderful things about him. I told her how the fluid had affected his balance so profoundly as a baby that he didn’t walk until a week after they were placed. They were life-changing for him.

Then came the unsolicited advice and excuses, as it always does in these possible-friends situations. I expanded on his delays and she said she had read that children usually focus on one skill at a time, so maybe he was focussing on his gross motor skills rather than his speaking and social skills. She adjusted the amber bracelet on her daughter’s wrist as she explained this alternative fact mined from Google.

I didn’t want another mother to hate me and my child for his disability, so I, “oh, really?”ed while willing my eyes not to roll. Since I didn’t let them roll, I had to also try to fight back the tears that want to escape when I have to make the mother of a neurotypical child understand that my child is not neurotypical and will almost certainly never be neurotypical.

Her daughter tried to play with Little Bear. He would follow her when she ran, but he didn’t know how to interact with her. He just didn’t know what to do and it breaks my heart all over again.

But… in other news… today he said, “There you go” multiple times in socially appropriate situations. Also, he and his brother did an excellent job of taking turns playing a game on the ipad.

Waiting Game

The waiting game has begun. Little Bear did fine on his first day back to school. He was throwing toys, but he didn’t bite, pinch, or scratch anybody. I picked him up at 11:30 before naptime and he was exhausted. He slept from 12 until his brother woke him up at 3. I was really proud of his progress and held onto the hope that he’d make it through probation.

At the same time, I did still visit Special Needs Child Care Center to see what our options are. I have to admit, I almost cried more than once. Not because Little Bear is special needs, but because he was doing so well at Fancy Child Care Center and I felt like because his ear tubes fell out, they robbed him of a chance at having a normal school experience. Every time I mentioned the school’s response, my voice shook and the director would reassure me that biting is developmentally expected from even neurotypical two year olds and the school was out of line. They actually took their name and information to check if they claim to be ASD-inclusive so that licensing can investigate whether they did, in fact, make accommodations for Little Bear.

Special Needs Child Care Center is what Little Bear needs right now. I know it in my heart. I just need to get Papi Bear on board and that’s hard when he comes from another country and still doesn’t tell people what our son’s diagnosis is. I have no problem saying it… It’s completely obvious when you meet him and not saying the words doesn’t fool anyone. It just makes us look clueless.

This center is opening a new room later this month, but it’s already full. I asked to be put on the wait list. What else can I do? Cross my fingers and hope for the best.

Today was a failure. Three therapists had scheduled for this morning, so I’d cancelled his ENT follow-up since his therapy was so important. Two of them forgot they had put their Monday sessions on Thursday and the other one switched to the afternoon. I went to pick up Little Bear while she was there. She said he bit someone on the playground and he’s been doing better, but not the same as before. She’s wondering if maybe he just associates the school with bad behavior at this point. She pushed me towards home/special needs daycare. A short text conversation with his ABA therapist seemed to go in the same direction.

Now if only one of the special needs schools actually had a spot for him before August, that would be awesome.

To close out a long day, we went to Golden Corral to use my free birthday meal before it expires tomorrow. Little Bear had a meltdown when I gave him stuff he likes but doesn’t usually eat there. At one point I was getting his food and he was back at the table screaming. A stranger said to me, “Wow, that poor baby keeps screaming. I hope he’s okay.” Yeah, that’d be my kid. Thanks, though. As soon as he had a bowl of mac the size of his head, he was good to go.

What a week.

Ear Tubes

Little Bear got his shiny new ear tubes put in yesterday morning. We were up bright and early, before the sun, and before Little Bear knew what hit him. We got to the hospital, went through registration and hung out in the pre-op room for a good hour, watching cartoons, playing on the ipad, and taking trips around the floor in their wagon. He started to get antsy towards the end – mainly because he realized I had a muffin tucked away in my purse, but luckily the CRNA came in with something to calm him down. When he was starting to feel the effects, they pulled out a phone, put on Baby Shark for him, and started to wheel him away. He was halfway down the hall before he realized I wasn’t with him.

The surgery itself was about 30 minutes from when they took him in to when they called me to recovery. Little Bear licked a popsicle, drank a cup of juice, and waited to be cleared. Little Bear was increasingly insistent that he get up and move, but he was still really woozy from the anesthesia. They said we could leave without seeing the doctor and that I could call later on for any information that wasn’t on the papers. This wasn’t our first rodeo, so I wasn’t too concerned.

When we got home, the improvement was immediate. Little Bear was listening. He was babbling. He was saying words. He still was far from where he was before the tubes fell out, but there was definite improvement. I put him down for a nap and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to take one, I went in and he said, “Hiiiii Mama. Hiiiii.” He’s never done that before. Usually he just says bye bye, but socially too late. Seeing him give  a social greeting at the correct moment, made me feel wonderful. He said peepee and caca when he was practicing on the potty. He followed simple directions again. I started to get hopeful.

Then I talked to Papi Bear, who had spent his morning in a meeting with Fancy Religious Child Care Center. He’s on probation for a week, starting on Wednesday. Papi Bear and I had already decided that we’d pull him after next week as it is, but this confirmed our feelings. Apparently Little Bear was biting his teacher and it hadn’t been reported to us previously. They suggested we look at special needs schools.
I think we’ve arrived to the point where that’s where we’re headed.

Papi Bear and I had a long conversation about it last night. He’s afraid to put Little Bear into a school where kids may be behind him. I had to make him realize that Little Bear is behind. Almost a full year at this point. He wanted to make comparisons with his older brother, who has an IEP right now at age 4. I showed him videos of Big Bear when he was 2.5. That’s when it hit him. That’s when he realized our son is severely delayed. At this age, Big Bear wasn’t saying full sentences, but we have one where we went to the zoo, and he pulls my husband over to the camels and says, “Mira! Camel on the ceiling! C C C!” Little Bear occasionally pulls us towards things, but not with the same eagerness and awe that Big Bear did at the same age.

Little Bear has improved since his tubes went in. He has only bitten me when he’s cranky from being hungry or just waking up. He’s still hitting. He actually pounded his brother over the head repeatedly with a small plastic baby ball today because his brother took his soccer ball. Of course this happened in the middle of a store. That I was doing a mystery shop at. Because that’s just how it goes when you’re the mom of two toddlers, one of them special needs.

Little Bear has been speaking more, singing again, daring to say new words, and dancing along with all his favorite videos on PinkFong. He speaks louder and more clearly. When I repeat one of his approximations in the correct form, he tries to correct himself. It’s an improvement. It’s a step towards where he was a month ago.

At the same time, I’m not sure how to handle school. He’s on probation already. They suggested trying maybe just the mornings for now, but he’s in school mainly because I’m teaching a night class on Mondays and Wednesdays until the first week of May. After that, I can pick him up without any problem and have him home before nap time.

I called every special needs school in the area today. None of them have space for him. One has a long shot space for him in the third week of April. They’re opening a class in his age group, but it’s already fully pre-registereScreen Shot 2017-04-04 at 10.43.05 PMd. He’s on the wait list. If you’re the wishing on a star type, please ask the stars to give him an extra push of luck to get in. I’m touring the school tomorrow and preparing for the emotional rollercoaster of acceptance that will come along with it.

Papi Bear and I have to decide tonight whether he’s going back to school tomorrow. He’s done so well the past two days. I see improvement and I’m absolutely terrified that it will go down the drain if we send him back to school. The special needs schools are not a problem, since he’ll almost certainly transition to one in August anyway.

We have a long discussion ahead of us tonight.

Little Bear… I hope whatever we choose is the best option for you. Always know we’re doing our best to give you the best possible outcome in life. We love you.

Transitions

If Little Bear could stay in one area and do his thing and then move to another area of his choosing at a time of his choosing, he would be the happiest little bear in the world. However, the world – and, more specifically, school – does not work that way. Little Bear struggled and dealt with it at Fancy Child Care Center and was starting to show huge improvements in his socialization and participation. He went from a year behind to about 6 months behind. He’s been at Fancy Religious Child Care Center for two weeks now and he has tanked.

We don’t blame the school or the teachers – not in the least. They’ve been nothing but wonderful to us and to him. They keep in close contact through messenger and send us daily pictures and videos. It’s really a phenomenal school that we’re very excited to send our older son to over the summer. However. HOWEVER. Little Bear… not impressed. At all.

He throws toys, snatches them from other children, refuses to participate, and doesn’t want to play with other kids. He’s basically just mean. He’s even been less cooperative with his therapists since leaving Fancy Child Care Center. He’s begun to bite and scratch more often, too. Even at home, he bites me at least once a day in sensory-seeking or attention-seeking ways.

The cause… well… we’re not sure. It could very well be the ear tubes falling out. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be dizzy and hear everything like you’re underwater. And to combine that feeling with a new school where you don’t know anyone and are not familiar with the routine… That’s difficult. I know he’s struggling. I see him struggling. Before I’d always take him every day we paid for, even if I wasn’t working. I knew he’d get the benefit of circle time and playground interaction. Now, I keep him home and we go to the park together instead. Every day I worry about getting a message about him biting another kid or snatching toys or just generally misbehaving.

Papi Bear and I had a long talk about it last night. It came down to this: We put Little Bear into school for socialization. He is not socializing. He actively avoids other children as much as possible. We don’t know if it’s him who is regressing or if it’s the transition that’s tough on him or if it’s the hearing issues that are making him irritable. Our final decision is that we’re giving him two weeks post-op to improve. After two weeks, we’ll meet with the director, the school’s counselor, and one of his therapists and decide if there’s been improvement and, if so, what can be done to help him along. If there isn’t improvement, we will pull him from the school and I will change my work schedule from 830-5 to 1030-7/1130-8 and begin to homeschool him in the mornings and schedule his OT and SLP in the afternoons while I’m working.

We don’t think Little Bear has regressed into a closed-off state. He’s not making as much eye contact, but when you get up in his face and start sticking your tongue out or playing with him, he’s back to normal. When he’s in the dark, he’s actually really playful. Every night this week we’ve had to go into the boys’ bedroom and yell at them to get to bed because they’re both in Little Bear’s bed, playing, tickling, and laughing. We’ve seen his little personality come out. We know he’s a social kid, albeit a bit awkward, but so were (are) both of his parents. We just need to get him in a situation where he’s getting the attention he needs in order to thrive.

And that’s where we are. We’re at a point where Little Bear will take the lead and show us what he needs. If he needs Mama Bear to make a homeschool for him for a few months, so be it. If he shows us that it was completely the tubes and he’s back on track once they’re in place, then we’ll stay in Fancy Religious Child Care Center. Whatever is happening, we’re very glad that his school has been extremely supportive and not accusatory towards us. That goes a long way when your child has special needs.

Tubes

When Little Bear was born, he failed his newborn hearing test. We tested him three more times and he failed, failed, and failed again. At first, we feared he was deaf. He wasn’t looking when we called his name and he only looked towards noises if they were extremely loud. We didn’t realize at the time that he wasn’t neurotypical, with the added issue of conductive hearing loss. The conductive hearing loss was confirmed by an audiologist and his ENT placed ear tubes last March.

The ear tubes helped him reach his gross motor milestones. Within two weeks of theirScreen Shot 2017-03-18 at 10.04.34 PM placement, he began to walk regularly, at 19 months. We waited anxiously for the speaking to come, but it never did. A few new words came out here and there, but no big blossom like the ENT had promise would happen. It was soon afterwards that we took Little Bear in for a neuro consult and he received his initial PDD diagnosis.

The ear tubes stayed in place until about 3 weeks ago. Around the time the right one fell out, he started to bite again. Within a week, he had an ear infection and the pediatrician said the fluid was back. That same week he bit two days in a row and he was booted from daycare. His behavior became more short-tempered and his attention span dropped. He just wasn’t himself once the tubes came out.

We went to the audiologist on Wednesday for a hearing test. He failed. We saw the ENT for his follow-up on Friday. He said the left tube was out, too. Both ears had fluid. That, combined with behavioral changes and the ear infection meant we were headed straight for new tubes. Sigh.

Little Bear loved the ENT, though. He followed him into another exam room and yelled, “BYE BYE!” to him and, “Abrazos!”

Meanwhile, I begged and pleaded with the scheduler to try to bump him up as soon as possible so he doesn’t get kicked out of school.

When autism is enviable

Two years ago, shortly after Little Bear was born, I became active in an online group for evidence-based birth information. I started chatting with a girl that was living in the country my best friend was born in and who had given birth to her first son in another country in the same region. Since she was living in Latin America and I was married to a man from Latin America, we had common interests and became occasional chat buddies.

When she became pregnant with her second child, our conversations moved towards sewing. She and I had both recently begun classes and we both used cloth diapers with our children. She was tight on money, so I sent her a box of cloth wipes that I no longer had a need for. She showed me her progress on diapers she was making for her second little boy, proud of the improvement she was making on each one.

In August of last year, our lives and our friendship took a dramatic turn as I dealt with the diagnosis of Little Bear’s autism and she dealt with her son being born with severe illness that was not immediately defined. At first they thought Down’s Syndrome, then they thought it was a heart defect. The newborn was airlifted to a larger hospital and mom was left with no answers and a thousand questions. I was similarly flailing for answers with Little Bear’s diagnosis. She was one of my anchors and I’d like to think I was one of hers. It was like we were both swimming in a sea of uncertainty and we were grabbing towards each other’s hands, hoping neither of us drowned.

Then, in November, we both received answers. Little Bear might not be autistic. He might actually have delayed myelination and outgrow many of his symptoms. We would repeat tests in a year to see. It was like a lifesaver of hope had been thrown to us and we saw so much improvement from his therapies, that we suddenly felt like we were coasting by.

Screen Shot 2017-03-16 at 11.52.03 PMMy friend also received the answers she waiting for, but it was no life preserver. No, she was thrown a pair of cement shoes: ARPKD. Her son had a genetic defect that had no cure. He would not live to adulthood. Possibly not even past early childhood, given the symptoms that were already evident at birth. Her world crumbled around her. Her boys’ father was no longer in the picture. Her baby was going to die. She felt that she was leaving her older son with nothing more than an absent father and a dead brother. My heart broke in two for her.

She took her older son to be tested last week. I waited anxiously for the results. I was certain he was fine. He was already four and asymptomatic. There was a 75% chance that he was carrying healthy kidneys and healthy genes. She texted me on Friday night with the results. Her older son was also affected. Both of her children would die before they were 21.

My heart broke into a thousand pieces for this friend. I’ve never even heard her voice, but I sat in my car and cried buckets for a woman I’ve only chatted with. I cried for a mother who would lose her entire world in one decade. I cried because I want to continue to hold her hand through this, but I feel that she may end up resenting me and my “problems” with Little Bear. My Little Bear who will one day be a Big Bear and have a completely normal life expectancy. We were two mothers navigating the waves of emotion that accompany the unknown medical diagnoses of our children and one of us was left with a non-neurotypical child and the other was left with two terminally ill children.

The guilt. I feel so much guilt. I have no reason to feel this guilt, but yet I feel it because I don’t think it’s fair at all for a mother like her to have to suffer through this. I feel it because I’m still upset about Little Bear, but Little Bear is growing bigger and stronger while her boys will eventually grow weaker and lose their kidneys. It’s not a fair friendship. I won the freaking lottery of problems compared to her. The goddamn lottery.

I put her in touch with another internet friend who has a son with a mitochondrial disorder. Her son’s life expectancy is similar to the poor mother who will lose her two boys. She has also already lost a child due to a surrogate who didn’t have a c-section early enough when there was a labor complication. She has become the new hand to hold for my online friend. She knows the drill. She also guides me on how to talk to this friend so that she doesn’t feel like I’m babying her or ignoring her.

Autism is a difficult disorder to deal with. Trying to peak into my son’s world and mind can drive me to tears at times. However, there are more and more moments when I feel like he’s left the window open – maybe even the side door – and I can see inside and really know him for a few moments before it closes again. I feel like there’s hope that one day he might invite me in for a conversation and we will know each other. This will continue until I depart this earth before him, as it should always be.

My friend has two children who are neurotypical in every sense of the word. They are happy, active, “normal” children with not a worry in the world. Happy, active, neurotypical children who will have to come to terms with their own mortality before they even begin to live.

I feel so guilty that I lucked out and got an autistic son.