Just a quickie before I take the grumpy old troll who lives under the bridge to his doctors appointment. He's thrilled, I'm thrilled, sarcasm is thick, the usual. That is all the same so recap needed.
The different and new stuff. Aidan had his big lab monkey series of tests yesterday that proved medically that I was correct. And for one of the few times in my life I am not all that excited about being right. This time was more like swallowing the enormous lump in my throat that has been lingering there for the last 6-8 months. I guess moving forward with knowledge is better than standing still with assumptions. He was a perfect subject with his four new observers. He sat and watched the specialist that resembled Jim Henson go through the elaborate efforts of engaging interactive play. He watched all the movements and then ignored him completely finding things on a desk nearby much more fascinating. This actually makes adults look like idiots when he does this because the poor sap is sitting on the floor with dolls and toy frogs pleading with Aidan to come play. With no such luck. This is also painful to watch because I am mentally checking off the list of skills being tested as he fails them one by one. My child misses the mark of normality. By miles. It is official. He has been medically diagnosed with Autism.
Now what?Aside from my lengthy letter to Jenny McCarthy. A birdlike lady specialist that was perched on the edge of her seat awaiting the opportunity to either take flight or peck my eyes out ( for the life of me I couldn't get past thinking all of this until Jim Henson interrupted her which really helped) had goals for us. The next year will be filled with classes and home visits to give me tools to nurture what dormant verbal skills are in his little being. And then he will attend a specialized pre-school at 3. Do I feel better with a diagnosis? No. Do I feel better with goals in place and a timeline to focus on? Not much. Is this about me? Nearly not at all.
The funny? Aidan has taken to moving his highchair near anything climbable. Silently maneuvering himself into the seat ( often with his legs contorted and stuck and not even remotely IN the chair properly) and then waiting for us to find him. This is his quiet request for food. And I fear he will fall and break his neck. Crazy, ninja, monster. I am amazed at his nimble talents for being such a brick beefcake. I commend his " I will just do it my damn self" attitude. And, I do believe it is time for a booster seat at the table. At a height which he can't kill himself.