Josh's Voice

I had a moment with Josh the other night and I knew I needed to record it.  He woke up around 3 am crying.  This isn't abnormal, since he has what I assume are nightmares and luckily I hadn't gone back to sleep yet after being up to feed Sam.  I went down to his room to comfort him and found him only half awake.  I asked what was wrong and he asked for me to say a prayer, then to have a hug and kiss.  I thought it a bit odd that he wanted to go through the last part of his bedtime routine again, but of course acquiesced to his request.  I started a quick little prayer and Josh started repeating my words.  Now this is pretty normal.  In order to teach him, we'll say a line and then (because we've done it so often) he'll parrot our words.  Normally though if we say three words he'll say the last two, or he'll speak in the way he does, without much enunciation that makes it hard for those unfamiliar with him to understand.

Last night, for the first time in his life, I heard his crystal clear voice.  Each line was repeated back exactly.  His words were sharp and precise.  There wasn't a single mumbled word, even though I knew he wasn't fully conscious.  If his little voice hadn't already been imprinted on my heart that I could never mistake it for another child's, I would have said it wasn't him speaking.

Then the thought crossed my mind, after he was tucked back in and I was in my bed, that this is how Josh would sound if he were typical.  How he might have sounded naturally, without months and months of teaching the basics of communication that seem to come so easily to other children.  And for a moment, I allowed myself to think about 'what might have been.'  Then I thought this might be how Josh could sound some day.

Luckily something inside of me was able to brush those thoughts aside, because they are destructive.  It's obvious that dwelling on what might have been or the what ifs isn't a productive way to get through life.  I've come to realize that focusing on what may happen in Josh's future can be just as damaging.  A year ago I thought for certain I'd have Josh potty trained before Sam was born.  When the things you think will happen don't, it's easy to get frustrated.  Maybe someday, or next month, Josh will be speaking crystal clear.  But maybe he'll always be a mumbler, always struggle to put sentences together because his brain goes too fast for his mouth.  If I hold onto that moment of hearing his "real" voice, I might be setting myself up for disappointment if he never gets there.

If I have learned anything from Josh, it is how to enjoy and appreciate the moment.  What I heard that night might have just been some little fluke in his brain, somehow neurons connecting in a way they can't seem to accomplish when he's awake.  I could drive myself crazy, knowing that it is possible for him to talk like that, so typically, and then watch him struggle to get his point across.  His brain can do it!  Why, synapses and neurons and electrical messages do you have to mess him up when I know it's possible for you to work correctly?!  This train of thought does no one good.  I do my child a disservice if I view his brain as broken.

Today was back to normal.  Josh has been yelling at us a lot lately, as if he thinks that raising his voice will somehow get his point across better, or that we'll miraculously change our minds and give him the iPad if he yells.  He's been extra rough with Ben lately, enough that we have to separate them often.  He got so upset when we were cleaning his ears (they were disgusting) that he gave himself a nosebleed.  When he got upset today he started flapping his hands in the 'typical sign of autism' style.  It made my heart lurch, but I am trying not to jump to conclusions that he will start doing more of this, that we're going backwards in the physical control of his body.

I'm trying to live in the moment.  He might grow up socially awkward, flapping his hands and struggling with his words.  He might 'outgrow' ASD and people will be shocked to find out about it later.  None of that matters, or at least that's what I try to tell myself when my chest starts tightening up when I think more than a year into his future.  What matters right now is that I have a little boy who can tell me spontaneously that he loves me.  Who climbs up onto my lap for a snuggle, moments after he's yelled at me to be quiet.  His vocabulary is growing like a weed.  He has the sweetest soul and everyone, everyone is his friend.  Today on our walk he was talking to strangers!  Of course they couldn't understand him, but I wish I could have told them that they were witnessing a miracle.  A year ago he wouldn't have looked them in the eye and if he did speak, it would have been what we affectionately dubbed "minion-speak" from Despicable Me.

This kid is awesome and I'm happy that I'm slowly becoming a better mother for him.

Josh will finally "smile for the camera!"

But this is how he'd rather have his picture taken.