Do You Think He Is Autistic?
I took Davis for his three-year-old well visit yesterday. I knew I wasn’t getting a good grade on my report card this year, for all the obvious reasons. In fact, I had some explaining to do. No, he isn’t potty-trained. No, he doesn’t sleep by himself. Noooo, he isn’t quite talking. Do I get any points for him being alive?
The minute Davis walked into the doctor’s office, he transformed into a crazy man and started running around the waiting room. Being the geriatric mom that I am, I just shrugged my shoulders at anyone who looked over at me. I’m just as taken back as you are, ma’am. At one point, I decide enough is enough, and I chase him down. I underestimated his speed and as the receptionists all snicker, I break out into a full sprint. I’m pretty sure that’s what got us bumped to the front of the line.
During the doctor’s evaluation, Davis never utters a word. He’s infatuated by the light on the otoscope and spends half the time trying to escape out of the room. Therefore, I was not at all surprised when the doctor sat back in her chair and whispered, “Do you think he is autistic?”
I go on to explain that every specialist is reluctant to label him “autistic” because of his behavioral inconsistencies. He lines toys up, until he messes them up. He has no eye contact, until he’s intrigued. He won’t repeat what you’re saying, but if you’re quiet long enough, he speaks.
“You know… I’ve stopped trying to figure him out”. Somewhere along the way, I’ve decided that this is life with Davis, and I’m not getting excited. If he doesn’t talk, he’ll learn sign language. Waffles are the wild card for peace. And apparently, life is only worth living- with the sleeves pulled up. But the one thing I know for certain is that he’ll never be lonely in this world. He’ll always have somebody. So, overall, I think we're in pretty good shape.
“Oh, one more thing, doctor… He holds his pee all day at daycare.”
She stopped typing, “He doesn’t pee the entire time at daycare?”
“That is correct. His diaper is dry all day, every day.”
There was a long, awkward silence. I regretted even mentioning it.
“That’s not normal”. She resumes typing on her computer.