Today I took Sam to a developmental pediatrician to be more formally assessed. Mind you, he’s already been assessed by a child psychologist who found him to be mildly to moderately autistic. He didn’t do so well with the tests the first time and I have to wonder if it’s because he was just in a bad mood? because today he did rather well on them. He placed those darn pegs in that pegboard and did the shape puzzle no matter which way the doctor turned it. I was so proud. He also brought her a book and made pretty awesome eye contact. And patience? Wow. He was a champ, only melting down after three hours. The doctor actually said that Sam could “grow out” of his diagnosis, which is, frankly, the most optimistic I’ve heard anyone on the subject of my children and their special challenges.
I feel like dancing a jig… I gather this unexpected happiness around me like a hug and look forward to starting their ABA class in a few weeks. The days since getting our diagnoses have been a series of ups and downs so dramatic that I miss therapy of my own. Some days, I am flying with optimism, hopeful for the interventions we’re getting so young. The next day I am lower than low: you couldn’t peel me off the floor with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
And to make the day really special: when I came home with Sam after our appointment, John raced barefoot across the lawn to meet me and grabbed my hand. Ah, sweetness.