It’s my fault, that I don’t go to every soccer practice and every game that my son has, or leave when she has had enough (at that EXACT moment).  It’s also my fault that I don’t get a slurpee every day.  It’s my fault that I tell her, “NO” when she has had enough food.  It’s also my fault that I turn down the sound to Dora The Explorer and Blues Clues.   According to Phoebe, it’s my fault I make her wear a bra, wash her hair, wear deodorant, and brush those TEETH!!!  I am certainly at fault for making her wear t-shirts in the summer and not sweatshirts, and also making her wear sweatshirts in the winter and not t-shirts. I am at fault, and “THE WORST MOTHER EVER” for allowing her to buy gum in the check-out lane if she has behaved as expected, and not cheez-its, bottled water, a slurpee, beef-jerky, skittles or life-savers gummies.  (Thanks grocery stores, by the way)  Besides these things, I am also at fault for telling her she can’t have my phone for the 400th time and text people “hi, or sdfakjslhfk,” I realize that a lot of this is teenage behavior, but most of it is autistic traits.  These are daily activities, and I find myself saying no a lot of the time.

I’m also at fault for not accepting that the first school district she attended said she didn’t qualify for speech and language therapy, then taking her to Beaumont Hospital and getting a 35-page report on the things she needed help with.  My fault I drove her 3 days a week to 3-years of intense Speech and Language Therapy.  It’s my fault that I didn’t accept, “ADHD” as a diagnoses.  It’s my fault that I took her to Psychologists, Neurologists, Geneticists, Early Childhood Developmentally Delayed Preschool and playgroups, and Occupation therapists to make sure she was the best she could be.  I know it’s my fault that I have sat through countless IEP’s, behavioral testing, doctors appointments and surgeries to see that she is getting the best care possible.  Now, I’m working to set her up for the rest of her life, and I know that will be my fault.  My fault.

It’s my fault that I have been working hard to be a good mother, no matter what her disability.  It’s my fault she is mad at me, because I want what is best for her.  It’s my fault she has become the young woman she is.
I’ll take that.
Most days anyway.