Undeclared.

from the outside, my son appears just like any other four-year-old boy: bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and a big, beaming smile. he loves monster trucks, his friends, and dinosaurs. he enjoys watching television, grilled cheeses, and snuggling with his sister.

but A has level 2 autism.

what that means for us is our life is exponentially different than we expected. traveling is almost impossible, change is catastrophically disruptive, and we live in a world of rigidity and emotional volatility.

it is hard to explain to someone why i am grieving when all they see is a healthy, beautiful little boy. but what they do not see is the three o'clock morning wake-ups, stemming, melt downs, hyper fixations and physical outbursts.

and it's hard to explain to myself that it is okay to be sad about his diagnosis. i feel guilty and angry at myself for not being more grateful for all the good things with A. i hate myself for the resentment i feel at times when he needs me to show up in a way that i cannot.

suddenly we live in a world of acronyms for various therapies. we are contemplating how to best meet his needs educationally, socially, and emotionally. we are fighting all the time about how to parent him best.

"I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this... When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The flight attendant comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy." But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland."