The concept of walking on eggshells is one with which I am all too familiar. The trepidation with which we anticipate the next storm, eruption, or even the slightest start to the sequence of events that leads us there.
Life with a neurodiverse child is a rollercoaster of emotions. A rollercoaster that we didn’t realise we had boarded until sometime into the adventure.
Our journey differs vastly to the ride we excitedly awaited during nine months of pregnancy.
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I love my son more than life itself. I would give anything to see him happy and well-adjusted in this world.
I really didn’t understand why things that came so easy to those around us with children were always so hard for us.
Things like leaving the house to go to the shops or sit in a café or a restaurant for a meal.
The concept of sitting full stop became a foreign experience reserved only for the few hours he slept of an evening.
Even then, for many years, I slept on his floor next to him to settle him back to sleep and ensured he stayed in the bed he had learned to climb out of.
A step ahead of us.
He always seemed to be one step ahead of us.
He crawled and got into draws that were not child proofed at six months. He walked at nine months. He jumped out of high chairs and car seats.
We didn’t have the foresight to child proof the car door on the other side of the car from where he was sitting until he got out of his car seat and tried to open it while I was driving on a freeway.
He terrified me. And in so many ways, I underestimated him, until I knew I couldn’t.