Contributors

I spent a lot of time wondering why you did all these things and how I could get you to ease up. I know grandmothers are supposed to "spoil the kids," then send them home, but you were... ridiculous. Until you were gone.
I am not a scientist. I am not smart enough for that. But I am a mother. And although I am not really smart enough for that either, I do know autism from that angle. I know the rigidity and the obsessiveness and the rage over having an aide in school. I know the quiet longing that comes with being different or weird, because I see it every single day.
When I was pregnant, everyone was all about "warning" me about what was coming next. I walked around much of those 10 (let's face it, pregnancy is 10, not nine, months) absolutely terrified.
How many angry letters and emails have I written in my lifetime? Volatile letters that brought powerful release for me, the writer, but perhaps churned up pain for their recipients?
You won't remember the way I stood in the bathroom late that night in labor with you, fearfully and excitedly gazing up at the moon, knowing I was going to bring you into the world soon and whispering to you, "We can do this."
I never wanted you here. You simply were never part of the plan. Growing up and dreaming of my family I never included you. I didn't want help from another woman to raise my child. But then you arrived. Dang your kind smile! I was planing on really hating you. I wanted to resent you but you made it impossible.
The truth is, my son isn't like other kids, and at the end of the day, I don't want him to be. So rock on, buddy; at least you won't live your life feeling like somebody's watching you, and I won't be scouring the Internet for new ideas.
Did you buy into this vision that being pregnant would make you an angelic round lump of contented domesticity with a perfect bun in the oven and out of it? I hope that, by now, you agree with me that we've all figured out this is a bunch of bull.
In an effort to prepare our kids for the dog-eat-dog, competitive world before them, we fill their days with activity. Schedule them from dawn to dusk to maximize their potential. So they can learn. And grow. But I fear that in our quest to help them, we may actually be hurting them.
I think people -- even today -- don't think that adoptive parents go through the same things that you do when you have a biological child.