After many long years of tears, questions, appointments, outbursts, meltdowns, and general anxiety (by both of us)…I have accepted Autism.  I can sometimes even laugh at it. Recently, while engaging Phoebe in a “normal” conversation…I asked her what she thought her dad and step-mom would name their new baby.  She replied…”pain in the ass?”  I laughed for 10 minutes.  I corrected her, of course, and told her no…that the baby was not going to be a pain in the ass. These are the conversations I have with my Phoebe.  (and probably always will) I have accepted that I will be that parent with an older child, who is following me around at the store.  I will probably be the parent of a child, who never drives herself around, who never dates (I hope:), and who will probably need some sort of care for the rest of her life.  I accept that.  A year or so ago, while working, I met an older lady in her 90’s at a nursing home. She lived there with her daughter.  The daughter had Down’s Syndrome, and the mother had been caring for her for more than 60 years.  I shared with her about my own daughter and she looked right at me and said…”but who better to take care of her than you?”  She also said that from the time her daughter was born…she knew she would take care of her.  This lady was truly inspiring as I watched her help her daughter eat, as they laughed about silly things. 

I accept that I won’t see Phoebe dance at a recital, or play soccer like I did.  I will however, enjoy seeing her laugh at her brother and swim with her cousins, say inappropriate things at inappropriate times, and doing the things she loves.  (like changing the settings on my iPhone, and watching MSU vs. Minnesota in basketball 10 times a day)

It’s autism.  I guess I have to accept that.