Coming to Terms...

"On the spectrum."

That's what the real nice doctor we waited a year and a half to get into said. I have to admit, I knew that would be the diagnosis. I've known for a while something was "off." But nothing can prepare you for actually hearing a trained professional say it, confirming what you already knew deep down to be true. It's certainly not the end of the world; there are far worse things to hear a doctor say about your 4 year old. Still, while it's somewhat comforting to have a diagnosis and a plan for the future, you can't help but fear for the future. The world is hard enough as it is, now you've got a label. There's nothing wrong with you, you're just not a carbon copy of the kid next to you. You process things differently, sometimes better, sometimes not; but the last thing a kid needs today is ammo for the other kids to have for taunting.

So here we are, with a summer full of therapy and doctor's appointments, hoping to get the loose wires connected, making her superior intelligence and her inferior communication skills on the same level. It will not be easy, because nothing with her has ever been easy, right down to the month-early, week-long (because of drugs to try and stop it) birth, but thankfully, we now have a plan.

I'm sorry, "spectrum," but you just effed with the wrong person. I will bring you down with force. You have come here to challenge us to be stronger, and I accept your challenge. You were not brought here by vaccines, or tylenol, or formula, or Baby Einstein, or any other "thing" that so many others desperately cling to. I will not be that person. Nothing is to blame, because things just happen, and I will not throw my energy into blame when my focus should squarely be on that of my child. You will not win, we will defeat you. So thanks for comin, but now, it's time for you to go.