There’s nothing more in this world, that I want right now, to hoist you on my shoulders and carry you to the finish line. Nothing more in this world. I know the pain, the anguish, the worry, the late nights spent on google, I know it all.
It’s an ugly, raw, and shitty place to be. You are in the sewers of parenthood, looking up at all your friends and relatives with their perfect lives and happy birthday parties and easy days, and you are all like: where the hell did we go wrong?
Sure, there are a lot of wrongs that got you here. In this place. We all know what they are, so I won’t go into the gory detail, for now, I want to focus on the HOW to get you out of here.
I want to tell you there’s a magic pill or therapy, but that would be all wrong. Sure it’s some of those things, but not ALL of the things.
If my Moose, the most textbook case of autism, can transcend the prognosis of his asshat developmental pediatrician: YOU CAN TOO.
He is potty-trained.
He knows words.
He engages and shows emotions.
He is no longer a textbook case of autism, but a case of autism in remission.
You will fight each day, as you will have to. Some family members and dear friends will remark, I don’t know how you do it. You get up, put your boxing gloves on, and fight. Some days you will drink wine and coffee. Some days, at the same time. You will fight insurance. You will fight school districts. You will fight and fight and fight until you realize the biggest fight you are fighting is the fight within yourself and your expectations of your child.
Your child is here to teach you that there is no recipe for the perfect child.
You will find love in their many challenges.
In the bite marks on their teachers’ arms.
You will find grace at three a.m. when they laugh and jump on their bed.
One day, you will wake up, far too early, and look in the mirror.
You will see bags under your eyes, new grey hairs forming, and see the beauty of yourself in that fight.
You will open your sons’ bedroom door.
And start, again.