A Text

Dear Addie,

This weekend, I sent a text that would have read very differently just four short years ago and was reminded of just how far you have come. But before I get into that, let me back up to the beginning of the day.

This past weekend, big brother Gabe was performing in his last outdoor aerial showcase of the season. Now, our life always leans a little towards chaos over calm, and with that, a bit of divide and conquer was about to take place to pull this one off. Gabe needed to be there early to help set up. Clara had to work, and Daddy was headed out of the country for business travel as the show was set to start. We needed a plan.

The plan: I would head to the park early with Gabe to help set up, and you would stay back with Daddy as he finished packing some last-minute things. He would then drop you off, wish Gabe luck, and say our goodbyes as he headed to the airport. I would have all your favorite sensory activities and snacks set up and waiting for you to help ease the transition of what could potentially be an afternoon of auditory assaults to your sensory system, seeing as music was a big part of this event. Never quite knowing what tone might cause a fight or flight response, we needed to be prepared for everything. My A game was all I could pack for the day, and a pair of good running shoes in case you decided to take off like Usain Bolt in the field.

Show time: The show had just started, and Daddy was right on cue to drop you off. You got out of the truck, heard the song playing, and immediately turned with the intention of sprinting. Luckily, Daddy packed his A game too and caught you before you could gain any momentum, only now you were yelling, “Elephants!” “Elephants!” our cue that you are anxious and distressed, no doubt because of the song. I watched all this go down in the parking lot and decided to move our sensory setup a bit farther back on the field because I could already tell you would be quite animated.

Convincing you to sit down with my makeshift sensory picnic took a little bit, but when offered a drink, you plopped right down like a ton of bricks. Feeling pretty accomplished that with a few anxiety moments already present, you were sitting, heavily vocally & physically stimming but sitting, drinking your drink, belching after each sip and yelling, “Excuse you!” (ah yes, my delicate flower) but sitting. This was happening. You were using your coping skills to find calm instead of eloping the environment. That’s when I texted Gabe, letting him know we were sitting in the back. A text that four years ago could’ve said, “I had to take Ad to the car, she was having a hard time – Good luck!” or “I had to take Ad home, I’m so sorry she got sick” or any number of different reasons for us not being there. You see, Ad, your go-to anxiety response has always been running, yelling, intentional flooding of your diaper, or vomiting. All things that make that all too important autism advance of exposure is key super fun (said with a heavy dose of sarcasm), but here we were, sitting in the back, but here.

The show continued; you sat stimming, coloring, and playing with putty, and while you motioned an attempt to get up and run a few times, nothing came of it. We watched Gabe and friends razzle dazzle the crowd, you were even clapping along after performances, and before we knew it, it was over.

The performers were all done, the crowds had gone home, and there you sat still playing – we were officially the last ones standing (or sitting rather.) Something I never could’ve imagined four years ago.

If I’m being honest, this journey can sometimes feel like walking through mud, slow, hard, and, dare I say, messy. So often, our days can feel like going through the motions, but not just any motions, motions of planning to put out potential fires where we always have to be ten steps ahead. I was so proud as we stood alone in that field, the three of us. Proud of you for the coping skills and growth you had obviously shown, Gabe for completing yet another beautiful performance, and our family for continuing to move through this chaos with grace, love and understanding.

Addie, we live in a world where we compare ourselves to a chart to measure developmental growth from the moment we are born, but for so many on this journey, a chart is simply a reminder of where they are not. Our greatest measurements will always lie with patience in the simple, unexpected moments of time.

This weekend, I sent a text that would have read very differently just four short years ago and was reminded of just how far you have come.

Keep working hard, baby girl.

Love,

Mom