This morning, I wasn’t able to go on my usual ride.

Instead of getting up at 6am and shuffling myself and my bike out the door by 7:30, I slept till 7, got the kids up at 8, and got everyone shuffled off to an appointment with their pediatric neurologist for 10. Part of the rigmarole of being the parent of two Autistic children is that a lot of time is spent with doctors and therapists.

I am sitting in the doctor’s waiting room as I write this post. My son is in the office with his father, and my daughter and I are waiting patiently. I find myself feeling out of sorts from not being able to complete a morning routine that has, for me, become as necessary as my usual breakfast of Weetabix and coffee.

I’ve gotten to the point where I simply don’t feel right if I don’t start my day with an hour of riding.

On the up side, this appointment means that my kids’ day will get started well. I don’t exactly know why, but they love going to the doctor— any doctor, really, but their pediatric neurologist is one of their favourite people.

As far as our routines go, I’m not so different from my children. In order to be at their best, they need certain things to happen in a certain pattern. In that, we are very much the same.