We sit and rock for a few seconds, until the screaming falls in intensity. His face is purple and covered in tears and sweat. His hands shake in frustration and anger. He is certain if he doesn’t get this toy he simply won’t survive. I pick up his screaming, bucking body to carry him outside. He is getting so big and it’s getting harder to do. I gather us up while my husband goes up to the register to pay. We sit out front where the cool January breeze cuts through the sound of his screams. Toy! Toy!! TOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYY!!!!!!! Greyson yells at me in a voice filled with rage and frustration. He gets louder, hoping it will make me understand. Not being able to really talk leaves you constantly feeling misunderstood. He’s sick and tired of feeling misunderstood. Sometimes having autism really sucks.
And some look over in alarm. But most look with the kindest of eyes that love and support. Some with a sympathetic smile that says, “I’ve been there too.” However my focus is on my son in my arms. He is beginning to calm. His sobbing transforms into exhausted shuddering.
It hits me. I am that mom.
I am that mom, and these are strangely some of the most sacred moments of parenting. When it isn’t easy- but it’s still so good. When God reveals himself to me through my boys. I think back to that mom that I judged from years ago, and I understand important things about life I didn’t know then. I’m grateful for the shift in perspective.
I am that mom, and I am so lucky.