I began to study you, very closely. Suddenly you had become a mystery to me, which is so strange considering we were once so in sync. When does he get the most upset? What does he do? How long do these emotional outbursts last? It all began to kick back in, my years as a social worker before I made you my full time job. What are his triggers? What coping skills are helpful? Eventually we consulted the “experts” when you were three. Within twenty-five minutes at the neurologist we were told you had autism.

Dramatic pause.

“Excuse me”, I said. The doctor responded with, “Really, you didn’t suspect it? Most parents have an idea before they come in.”

Um, no.

As the tears welled up, I looked to your dad. Don’t do it he was thinking. He knows me well. Don’t cry, we know him best. That’s what he was telling me with his eyes. You see your dad never believes what someone tells him the first time. He’s a wild card like you. I on the other hand, tend to think things are how I’m told they are. I never questioned as much as I should.

Things we knew about you before entering that doctor’s office. Well we knew you were hyper, had difficulty paying attention to one thing for too long. We knew you took things very literal and thought very literally in general. We knew you were sensitive, and we knew you did not like things to be moved out of their place. Like the time I moved a table while you were sleeping and you spotted the change immediately as you walked down the stairs the next morning. You sobbed and told me to put it back. I thought it was strange, but maybe you were just born with an eye for decorating. I knew you didn’t like to sit for more than 3 seconds at a time, and that you hated crowds and became overwhelmed when too much was happening at once. It seemed like every cookout we attended, you ended up crying and naked at the end. Because you refused to take naps and became so tired and overwhelmed that even spilling a drop on your shirt resulted in the necessary removal of all clothes, like they were burning your skin. Going to a restaurant with you was like going to church. We spent the whole time just praying. We knew that you were observant, smart, and very loving. The first thing we thought was wait a minute, he has no trouble speaking and communicating with us. The doctor recommended a second opinion. So we got one.

And so led to your first test son. They told us you would be given 2 tests, a developmental assessment and a psychological assessment. Your developmental assessment was what we expected. Difficulty focusing on one activity for too long, but other than that, you passed the test. Ha. Watching you walk away to take your test was the sweetest. You took her hand and said bye to us. Your father and me looked at each other in surprise. “I guess the stranger danger talk needs to be next.”

For the second half of the psychological assessment we were invited in. We were asked to be observers, something I already was. “Do not interfere unless your son approaches you, then your interaction with him will become part of the test as well”, the therapist said.

Sh*t just got real.

My insecurities kicked in immediately. What will she think of me? Did we create the behaviors? Does she like my outfit? Why does she wear her hair that tight? I want sushi for dinner. Should I buy colored mascara? Oh my God, I’m definitely the problem. Focus baby, you know what to do. The test was hysterical. The therapist asked you to play with a family of dolls. You could care less. In fact, you ignored her when she tried to play house with you. You wanted the fire truck and when asked to switch to a new activity you said no. You wanted to play with the truck. Then came the baby doll. You did not want to feed the doll or set up a birthday party for it. You wanted the fire truck. “Ok, so he’s not listening that great, but I think he’s doing pretty good”, I whispered to your dad. And then it was over. “What do you think?”, we asked. “Anything that you can tell us now?”

“Yes”, she said. “I’m pretty sure he’s on the autism spectrum.

When we got in the car I cried. Not because they said you were likely “low” on the autism spectrum, but because I couldn’t see it. You are my son and I couldn’t see it. I spend all day with you, and I don’t see what they see. Am I in denial? I found myself agreeing with them next. Trying to fit my son, my square peg into their round hole. I went home and got on the computer and did what any confused parent does. I googled you. I sat on the computer and read until my eyes burned. Why can everything be going great and then seconds later we are in the midst of an emotional explosion. Like an unexpected bomb hit us. How can our boy be so predictable yet so unexpected at the same time?