This blog post started as one thing and kind of morphed into another. Therefore, I will make this part 1 of more posts to shared at a later date.
My husband and I experienced fertility problems, and tried for a very long time to conceive our first child. With the help of a fertility specialist, and fertility drugs, we were finally able to conceive and welcomed a baby girl; now a clever and sassy 4-year-old preschooler. We were told our chances of conceiving again (naturally) were VERY slim, and that if we ever decided we wanted another child that we would most likely have to go about the same route we had with the fertility treatments, and that birth control wasn’t necessary if we were okay with potentially conceiving again, although very unlikely.
I so cherished those first months with my baby girl, and even quit my job and decided to stay home with her full-time no matter what sacrifices had to be made to do so. I knew that this would likely be my only child, and children were my dream and passion always. I was so blessed.
My husband and I left for a weekend getaway for our 6th wedding anniversary and left our 6-month-old baby girl overnight for the very first time. Lo and behold, about a month after this weekend getaway, I found out I was pregnant! I was absolutely SHOCKED, awestruck, taken aback, and even scared. I had no idea what my husband would think, as we (mainly he) had sacrificed a lot for me to be able to stay home with our firstborn, and things were not easy financially. Long story short, he was totally surprised and happy and the supportive husband I so needed.
My second pregnancy was really tough on me physically and emotionally. I had a lot of back issues and was trying my best to be my best for my babygirl. My body wasn’t even close to being back to feeling “normal” at just 6 months postpartum, and I definitely wasn’t even close to being emotionally back to “normal” learning to be a new mom and then having the crazy tiredness and hormones of early pregnancy on top of it.
Trust me, I know that people have children close together all the time, and it’s not that big of a deal. It was just such a shock to my system, as I was basically convinced I would only have one child in hopes of maybe trying for another years down the road.
After the initial shock I was very excited and so looked forward to adding another to our little family. I was even more excited once we learned our newest addition was a little boy. How perfect!
Just fourteen months after the birth of my first, I was holding my second born in my arms.
It wasn’t easy, as my oldest was not yet walking, and many a day I had one in a baby carrier and one in my arms; two cribs, double the diapers, and very, very little sleep. Little did I know, this wouldn’t even be the hard part. The hard part was yet to come.
I always heard from others that having children close in age was extremely hard in the beginning, but would become much easier once they were older, as they would be close friends and a huge help to eachother.
I looked forward to this. I couldn’t wait to see them play together and hear them giggle and chat in the adorable way young children do.
My little girl has always been a talker and still is. She started talking early and this seems to only increase seemingly by the day. I am serious in telling you that I have never ever met a child as articulate and chatty as this little girl.
My son, at first, was an overachiever it seemed. He was rolling over onto his belly at just two weeks old. He took to crawling earlier than his older sister had, although did take his time to start walking; just like his sister.
He started jabbering and before we knew it was saying words. The word he said I remember most was “grandma”.
To be honest, I took this time for granted. I was busy, things seemed to be progressing as they should. I just assumed we were on our way to hearing his cute little voice on the regular.
While I cannot remember an exact time (an estimated guess is all I can give), when he was somewhere around 14 or 15-months-old I began to notice he quit saying words, like completely. I always just thought he was “a man of few words” and liked to keep quiet since his sister did plenty of talking for the both of them, and then some.
Also of note was just how wild and active he really was. I kept getting the speel “he’s just a boy“. At first, I took this to heart. I am from a family of all sisters and primarily female cousins. I hadn’t a clue about what to expect from a male child. After a while, though, it just seemed unreal, out of control to me. He was always, always into something; fearlessly climbing and jumping, wrestling, head-butting, you name it. Fearless.
He was the absolute messiest eater I had ever seen. I felt like I needed a pressure washer for the highchair and kitchen after every meal and snack. He would squish food, rub it all over himself and his surroundings, throw it, all of that and then some. It seemed to only get worse over time.
He was an eater! He was born ready to eat and kept up that appetite from that moment on. His appetite has never changed. He often eats more than I do in a day. The thing is, he began to be particular about what he would accept and eat, which was a pretty sudden and significant change. (see this previous post.)
Then, it was if he had never known his name. I say this because he virtually stopped responding to his name entirely. It was near impossible to get his attention. I was really starting to get concerned. While he was still happy, healthy, and extraordinarily wild, things seemed to be regressing.
A lot of things went through my mind. All of those words we hear, but choose not to acknowledge until we really have to: regression, developmental delays, ADD, ADHD, autism, mental illness, etc…(see previous post)
I KNEW something was wrong and had been for a while. My mommy heart KNEW.
The straw that broke the camel’s back (so to speak), and really made me accept that we needed to look into things, was when he started jumping and flapping his hands (aka stimming).
I had basically already diagnosed him myself before he was even 18-months-old. That seems crazy, but since I had just been through seeing the milestones of his older sister, it was pretty easy to see where things weren’t even close to the same as they were with her. I, in fact, called his primary care physician and raised my concerns. The doctor was fairly skeptical, and I could tell he thought I was just overreacting, as I have always been a very observant and concerned parent. He did reassure me that he was sure I knew best, but that we just as well wait until his 18-month-Well-Child exam, since most times diagnoses of delays and such weren’t even done until the child was a bit older, anyway.
I made an entire written list of my concerns for the doctor before our visit. To say he was impressed by my observations is an understatement. To this day, he still praises my attentiveness and early intervention.
I will save you the story of the specifics of diagnoses (it’s quite a process and a real headache), but just after my son turned 2-years-old, he was diagnosed with nonverbal autism spectrum disorder and sensory processing disorder. While I was totally expecting this, it was different once it was actually on paper. The silver lining of it being on paper, was that now we could seek out resources and help at the very susceptible and tender age of two. Early intervention is key.
Needless to say (type), I have yet to experience my children having a verbal conversation, or to see them playing in a traditional manner.
Balancing the act of raising a neurotypical child and a child with autism so close in age is THE REAL CHALLENGE.