The Puzzle Pieces Fit

I'm trying not to obsess, but I feel like a light has finally been turned on after several years of darkness.  My husband said he's still not convinced E has it, but quickly tagged it with "But I haven't read any articles... nor am I around him all day."  Exactly.  Trust the mama heart. I've got this.

Anyway, I've been watching.  Little things are making sense. 

Doctors tell you to not let your kid watch tv.  Yeah, I get that.  But E doesn't just watch tv.  He absorbs it, becomes it.  It's been our joke for years, but it's actually serious truth.  The kid doesn't have a brain to understand some aspects of social life, but by watching characters on tv, he can see how people are supposed to (and not supposed to) act, then repeat that behavior. 

When we see strangers, he immediately says, "Hi! I'm E.  I'm 4 years old. Or 55 months old," then tells them whatever is on his mind.  Kid-appropriate television has taught him what to say and how to say it.  I really believe it's taken the edge off social awkwardness for him, and he's only four!  We have so many years to go, but I am thankful for where he is, and while people tried to make me feel guilty for the tv watching, I finally have words to explain why it's different for him.  Not that he should sit there all day, but it's definitely more beneficial than simple entertainment.

This whole thing also made me reflect on all the times I struggled with his two-year-old self.  He was crazy and wild and would accidentally hit me.  Often I'd end up with real tears, but as I would cry, he'd just look at me.  "E, tell me you're sorry!"  Stares, met with lots of prompting. Finally says sorry.  Finally gives me a hug.  I can't count how may times I had to teach, "You don't have to wait for someone to say sorry.  If they are crying or look sad or are hurt, you tell them sorry, even if no one tells you to."  (He finally does this well about 90% of the time.)

Then I look at his brother, who, at two runs to hug and kiss and apologize to anyone who's hurt.  He sees pain and immediately rushes to comfort.  I didn't have to *teach* him empathy.   And I never understood... until now.   (... which also increases my irritation at people who would fake cry in E's face, trying to get him to comfort them... and then be mad when he didn't.  He couldn't.  Poor kid.)


And it explains why he always tells me what to say when we pretend play.  Everything is perfectly scripted in his head, and we must all do it his way, or there's a tantrum.  He's not trying to be bossy.  He's just traveling his funky neurological pathway.

It explains why he has been totally freaking out that I haven't been saying "please" when I tell him to do something.  He screams that I have "mean manners" and his heart really means it.  He has been expecting to follow all the same rules I teach him, because it's the only way it fits in his brain.  It explains why he so angrily, brokenly, pained-ly yells "NO!" at me over small inconsistencies.  He can't help that those things irritate him so much.  I can teach him to have more appropriate reactions to things, but I absolutely cannot expect him to *not* react to something so monumental in his mind.

And of course, it explains his brilliance.  He has remarkable skills that humble and astound me, and I love that giftedness. It opens up a really special world for anyone who chooses to slow down and step inside.  I love this unofficial diagnosis.  It helps my heart to see all these pieces come together into one big picture.  It has a *name.*  I don't have to grasp at straws anymore; I immediately have words to help other people understand him. 

I know it in my heart.  My son has Asperger's Syndrome.  And it's a really, really great life.