We’ve had it confirmed now by two paediatric development specialists.
Max is on the autistic spectrum.
I know that this has been a long time coming, but I lost that last little bit of hope that it might turn out to be just a speech delay yesterday.
My baby boy, who is coming on leaps and bounds, is going to need a LOT of help over the course of his life. I may need to be around for him much further into the future than I ever anticipated.
Of course, as the Dr said, time will tell. He’s been doing really well recently, more tantrums, but also more of us pushing his boundaries more than he’s used to, so I figure it’s a fair trade off for now.
Hopefully he’ll keep surprising us with learning new things more and more as he has been over the last six months.
I cried last night though.
Sobbed for the life that I had thought of for him.
“He’ll never be a chat-show host, but then there are lots of people who are good at some things and not others” said the Dr.
That crushed me.
Then they said they’d need to take some blood from him for tests.
I started crying at that point.
I knew Max would never ‘allow’ that to happen. That he’d scream and buck and kick and bite and scratch and scream and be terrified.
I couldn’t be in the room.
Dean and Marie (our parent to parent helper – she is AWESOME) took him along to the ward. I stayed outside with my dad. I heard him screaming and screaming and crying.
A few minutes later they were out.
It had taken four of them to hold him down.
He had a little round plaster on the back of his hand, which he noticed and then proceeded to hold and cover with his other hand at every opportunity for the rest of the day. My cute lil boy, was so upset at what had happened to him that he clung onto what reminded him of it for the whole day.
He’s still my lil man after all.
He’s a wee cutie, who throws strops over the silliest of things, freaks out whenever he hears the front or back door close (which leads to us singing at the top of our voices or ‘coughing’ while closing it so he doesn’t notice), he runs up to us for hugs, and pulls us with him to wherever he needs us to be.
At least now that we’ve had the diagnosis we can get on with our lives, and get the support and understanding that’s needed to help him, and us, through it.
And thanks to Jen, I don’t feel like I’m completely on my own with it all. Words can express how much it means to have you around to hold my hand. Thank you xx