While I write this story, I am looking at my son, Beau. He is happily sitting on the couch wearing shorts and a t-shirt, munching on pistachios, and grinning while watching Ghostbusters, a movie he specifically requested to watch. To most people, this would be a very ordinary scene.
thought I had done everything right. I had opted out of a sonogram, ate organic food, used organic products, and exercised while carrying my son, River. He was born naturally, without any complications, weighed nearly 9 pounds, and we chose not to vaccinate.
In our quest to help our son over the years, we have done some traditional and non-traditional treatments, I have read countless books, blogs and forums. I have been to so many conferences and presentations that I could probably present some of them on my own!
Tristan was born in November 1999 after a wonderful and uncomplicated pregnancy and delivery to a first time mom. He breastfed immediately and the first few months after he was born were “normal” per all the baby books I read — no colic, sleeping well, normal looking and smelling bowel movements, and no unusual fevers or ailments whatsoever.
They say autism is a marathon, not a sprint, and I have to say I agree with that sentiment. Our marathon began in 2006 with the arrival of my identical twin sons, born at 26 weeks.
My story starts like any other day. I was in the kitchen preparing lunch for my kids. One therapist had just left after their session and another one was due to arrive any minute. But today was unlike any other day.
“Dad, I miss hockey.” That’s what my 6 year-old son, who has autism, said to me a couple of weeks ago as we were getting ready for dinner. I can honestly say that I never expected to hear those words from him.
Some fathers are fully on board with the plan to save their children. Some fathers are confused as to what this strange group might have in store for their child who was branded hopeless
Stories of autism moms have been shared and celebrated for years, and rightfully so. With a growing population of children being diagnosed on the spectrum, new autism moms are being inducted into this exclusive club every day.
It was exciting for our whole family when we learned that my baby sister Lisa would soon be delivering her second child, a little boy. My wife Sheila and I were invited to the hospital to meet the little guy shortly after he was born. I could not wait!
Zachary was born Feb 6th, 2004. Although he was sick at a day old, and almost non-stop for years, he was progressing in regards to developmental milestones.
I live up in the hills at the end of a street that overlooks a mountain – great location, but cell phone reception is terrible. The most you can get is “2 bars” which means conversations are nearly impossible – you can’t hear the other person or they can’t hear you. Some texts come through instantly while others are not received until the next day, leading to important information getting lost.
“I’m glad that’s over!” That’s what I thought every morning after pulling away from the school. I dreaded taking Charlie to school every day. And then as the school dismissal time approached, I dreaded going back. Ever since Charlie’s diagnosis of Autism, every day seemed to bring a new challenge. I was getting exhausted.
The tiny, blond, blue-eyed boy was covered in love as thick as his favorite blanket from the day he was born. Everyone adored him and, in truth, he adored everyone back. People would walk into a room and smile when they saw the small boy and he would look up at them through his child eyes and smile just as warmly back. That heart-warming grin was plastered across his face every waking second of the day.
They sat at the kitchen table – mother and stepfather on one side, 13-year-old daughter on the other. Silence suffocated the room as the girl wondered what she had done to prompt so stern a look on her parents’ faces. Her mother sat, her soft hands together resting on the table as she watched her daughter carefully.
As you probably know, I am challenged by a hidden disability called Autism or what some people refer to a Pervasive Developmental Disorder (PDD). Autism/PDD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, which makes it hard for me to understand the environment around me. I have barriers in my brain that you can’t see but which make it difficult for me to adapt to my surroundings.
When my mother told me that I was finally going to have a little brother, my heart immediately burst with joy. I began to daydream about all the things I could teach him, all the knowledge and joy I could share, and all the noogies I could so lovingly pass on.
My daughter, Dana, is my 17-year-old Autistic child. She is my inspiration to appreciate and stay focused on the true blessings of our great world.
When Woody was diagnosed with autism at age 2, I went into a mad dash for services and interventions. I heard that some mythical window closes at age 5; the once-elastic brain becomes concrete, impenetrable. Age 5 passed, then 7, then 10.