Total Eclipse Of The Heart

I have two posts to bring you this week to wrap up my series on autism. One is happy while the other is sad. I'll give you the sad one today, so I can end on a positive note later this week. I've shared how autism has affected Pierce and our family as a whole, but I haven't talked about the emotional struggle that I've endured. I think it is important to share, because it will help you in your interactions with other parents of autistic kids. Maybe you know someone whose child was just recently diagnosed. You may want to talk with this mom or dad about how they are feeling, but you have no idea how to start since you haven't been where they've been. I'm going to tell you a little of what I was feeling when Pierce was diagnosed with autism. As I've said before, every parent is different, so my feelings may not be the same as those of most parents. In fact, I was diagnosed with clinical depression at the same time Pierce got the autism diagnosis, so that definitely affected the way I processed what was happening. I'm writing this for the same reason I've written of my experiences before; I hope that someone is enlightened by what I have to say.

It's hard to say this, but I felt very early on that Pierce and I didn't bond like most mothers and babies do. I thought that the main reason for this was all of the trauma surrounding his birth. I barely had time to kiss his tiny head before they whisked him away from me, and I didn't get to hold him for the first time until the next morning when he was 18 hours old. I tried to nurse him, but we seemed set up for failure and I gave up after three weeks. I loved him fiercely, but I felt like a connection was missing. As Pierce got older and the red flags began appearing, I did what most mothers do. I questioned myself. What was I doing wrong? Was I not interacting with him enough? Was he watching too much television? Pierce was only a baby, so what ever was going on must be my fault. Society seems intent on laying the guilt trip on moms. There were reports everywhere on how important those first three years were. If you weren't breastfeeding, playing him Mozart, showing him Baby Einstein videos and teaching him to read by the time he was three, then you were a bad mom. I felt like a failure. Talking to other moms only reinforced that feeling. There was a huge baby boom at our church the year Pierce was born, so most of those kids were reaching milestones at the same time. Not my son. Whenever a room full of moms would start talking about their kids, I started to feel like the odd man out. If I ever mentioned something strange that Pierce was doing or a milestone he had yet to reach, I was usually met with blank stares. I began to feel that I had nothing to contribute to these discussions, and I began to dread them. I didn't really want to socialize any more. I forced myself to attend church functions, because I didn't want anyone wondering or talking about why I'd suddenly stopped participating. I started to feel extremely jealous of these moms with their "normal" kids.

When we got the autism diagnosis, I went through a variety of emotions. One feeling was a sense of relief. Finally, the doctors see what I'm seeing! Maybe I'm not a bad mom after all! But, I also continued to beat myself up. Pierce was five when he was diagnosed. Why didn't I try harder to get answers sooner? What could I have done differently? What kind of early intervention had we missed out on because we failed to catch this when he was two? I've already told you how overwhelmed I was with information in the beginning. I would read some of this stuff and feel defeated. I didn't want to learn how to live with an autistic child. I just wanted him to be normal, and having that desire made me feel like a monster. Eventually, Tim and I learned that we had to grieve. We had not lost a child in death, but we were losing the idea of a "normal" son. I had imagined a son that would go to college. That would get married. That would raise a family of his own. Now, we weren't sure if any of the dreams we had for him would come true.

As they say, hindsight is 20/20. I believe that the only reason Reagan is with us today is because we got that autism diagnosis later rather than sooner. There is about a 25% chance that a second child will also be autistic. I don't think we would've had a second child knowing the risks. Also, I wouldn't be the advocate that I am if Pierce were "normal" (I keep putting that in quotes because, honestly, is ANY kid really normal? Normal is a relative term.) Later this week, I want to share some of the heartwarming stories I've experienced over the years as Pierce's mom.