August already. A year since I started blogging, a year since we got our official, official diagnosis. The month my babies turn three years old.
I am struck by how fast it’s all sped by and I wonder if I should feel any different, any wiser perhaps? I’ve picked up battle scars and experience along the way, I guess. Parents of the newly diagnosed actually come to me for answers (I wish I had them, the answers that is).
I’ve learned to go out in the world and look strangers in the eye. I imagine that now I look like a calm mother in the face of her screaming twins, not someone ready to burst into tears in a crowded grocery store. Maybe I even look blasé now, like oh this happens all the time, it’s nothing, look at the sale on tomatoes.
I no longer feel like I just got punched in the gut. The newness of autism is long passed. You could say I’ve learned to roll with it. Acceptance has been hard-won and a tightrope I occasionally teeter upon. What’s hovering underneath? Ah, just a pit of hopelessness, but at least it’s lined with ice cream!
I wear this shawl of motherhood like a ball of steel wool, my love is whole, complete, the softest part of me. And yet I bristle and prepare for battles unknown. How can it feel like yesterday that I cradled these boys in my arms?