I’m holding back tears as I write this. To me this is a really silly blog post. But maybe someone else needs to hear what I have on my heart. I’ve noticed that my writing really flows when I’m upset about something. We had Jaxon’s Christmas program this evening. And just like last year, he got on the risers with his class and then immediately wanted to get down and sit with me and my mom. I expected this, so I wasn’t upset or surprised. But halfway through the program my gut was upset and I held in my tears because Jaxon doesn’t deserve that.
I really hate the way I feel sometimes. I try to be super optimistic and supportive, but when my son is the only kid that can’t perform at the school Christmas program, I get upset. There are other kids with ASD and other disabilities that are able to participate, but you won’t. Maybe you’re not interested. Maybe it’s not something you enjoy. I shouldn’t let that bother me, but it does. I try to keep it on the inside. I try to be the happy smiling mom while we are there, but tonight I felt myself falling down deeper in my disappointment.
I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m upset with myself because I can feel my heart sink with sadness because a little part of me wishes that you were typical for these kinds of things. I’m upset with myself because I want to be the best parent I can be, and I know that being a parent of a typical child would have been an easier path.
Things that you could care less about are the things that mean a lot to me as a parent. When you were a baby, I would hold you and imagine myself watching you play sports, or having a speaking part in a school program. I hoped that I would be hosting sleepovers and being a chaperone during fun hang outs with you and your buddies. But again, those were my hopes not my reality.
My reality is therapy appointments, hoping I get child support this week, making sure you eat enough every day, pushing you to do your schoolwork because if you’re left to do it by yourself, it won’t get done, and praying every day that I do a good job being your mom. My reality is planning for a future where I’m not here to be with you or protect you. My reality is hoping that you learn and grow into your faith and to be baptized one day, but not knowing if that will happen. My reality is worrying daily about your future and hoping that I make the right decisions.
I know that every parent has these fears and worries. I’m not saying that I’m the only one, but being a special needs mom, it comes with lots and lots of stress. There is not an Autism mom bootcamp. You don’t get to go to a class and learn about it. You research it and hope that the advise you are given by others is what is best for your child.
Jaxon, you are more than I could have ever dreamed of. You are funny and so so smart. You’re sassy (my fault) and clumsy (also my fault). You love to read and make your own books and on my bad days when I feel so much guilt by thinking about what could have been, I’m reminded that if you were typical, you wouldn’t be you. My sweet dimpled, blue eyed, beautiful boy, God gave me you. He blessed me with you. I will forever love and cherish you, no matter what inner thought I may have.
