Autism: Is It Just Me?

Amy has a friend over today. It's her second playdate this week.

And I worry.

I checked in on Amy and friend this morning, just to make sure they were safe and happy.

And Amy was busy making a list.

Playdate Friend watched. Concerned Mom (me) asked, “Amy, what are you writing?”

“A list of Playdate Friend’s Webkinz, Mom…”

She huffed and scribbled on.

And I felt the overwhelming ickiness of worry.

I know. I know it’s silly.

But history has proven that I’m prone to counterproductive episodes of denial.

And Amy makes lists.

Lots and lots of lists.

She made lists of classmates with her other Playdate Friend earlier this week.

I throw away scraps and scraps of paper on a daily basis filled with Amy’s lists.

Did I mention that she also memorizes lists?

Just a couple of weeks ago when we were addressing the invitations to her birthday party, she wrote the address of every friend she invited … without looking up a single one.

She knew all of them by heart.

Is that normal?

Is my worry normal?

What the hell is normal anyway?

Her teachers all love her. Her grades are absolutely perfect. She’s an academic superstar.

But she’s quirky, that one.

And her quirky mom has no clue what normal is supposed to look like.

Adding fuel to the fire, I read a blog post recently written by a mom of a little boy affected by autism. Her older NT son was fine … or so she thought until he tried to commit suicide at the ripe old age of 9. It was then that he was diagnosed with Aspergers. Thank God he’s alive and is getting the support he needs now.

For now, I watch and wait.

And I wonder…Are my eyes wide open?

Or am I the one guilty of perseverating?

Deep in my heart, I know she'll be just fine. I'll communicate concerns to teachers, counselors and physicians. The village will take her.

Now excuse me as I take this next call ...

Miss Amy has yet another friend calling for a playdate.