Four years ago, I started to write a blog. It went something like this:
Mommy’s alright. Daddy’s alright.
At least that’s what I keep telling my husband.
He was decidedly not alright when they said the “A” word about his little girl.
“There is nothing wrong with my girl!”
We take turns blaming the other’s genetics.
“It’s your old sperm.”
“You’re the nerd.”
I’ve had my suspicions since she was three when I was scrubbing poop out of the carpet, off the tub wall, digging it out of her train cars.
And she never talked to Dora. Dora would say, “SAY MAP!” and Molly would stare back at her, mute.
She did speak, however. She was a wonderful talker. Lots of big words. But not so much the conversationalist. She irritated a few people with her insistent direction on exactly what they should say:
“You say, ‘it’s ok little bee.'”
If they did not comply, she just kept saying, “Say…..” until they did.
So we are officially living on the spectrum.
Actually I feel like we are living in the spectrum. If you are on something, it feels like a simple step to just jump off. I don’t think there is any jumping off at this point. We are pretty much strapped in.
Arms in the air.
Screaming the whole way down.
I started that post exactly two years ago. It has taken me that long to decide it’s for sure.
I’ve guess I’ve surrendered.
At first I never told anyone about Molly’s diagnosis. I didn’t want them to label her or treat her differently. Then slowly I found myself explaining her odd behaviors by quietly telling someone,
“well…..she’s autistic. She’s really high functioning, though.”
That’s been the other hard part. Knowing when it’s in her best interest to ‘explain’ and when it’s better to just let someone think she’s weird.
After all, mommy and daddy are alright. We just seem a little weird.
I found this quote when trying to make sense of our new reality:
“When I set a glass prism on a windowsill and allow the sun to flood through it, a spectrum of colors dances on the floor. What we call “white” is a rainbow of colored rays packed into a small space. The prism sets them free. Love is the white light of emotion.”
― Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of Love
Molly splits the sharp white light open for us.
She is the rainbow.
Fast forward >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 2016
My Rainbow Bright has Type 1 Diabetes.The irony of her two blue diseases is not lost on me.
Are we lighting up blue for Autism? Or is it Juvenile Type 1 Diabetes?
Or are we just freaking depressed that this kid can’t catch a break??
Whichever way, the light is the same–blue.
Funny thing is, blue has always been my favorite color.