I’m writing to prevent myself from googling “Cyber Monday, Ipad, free shipping” incessantly.  We so can’t afford one.  Which begs the question, if you can afford to buy an iPad, is free shipping really a deal breaker?

Other than the fact that it’s freaking awesome, I honestly think it would be a great tool for Peter.  I regretfully relinquish my precious iPod touch to sticky fingers in a vein effort to buy myself a few more minutes of sleep.  My PMS tracking app and Yoga Class Scheduler have been replaced with Sesame Street games, Angry Birds, Dress Chica, and an “Olivia” coloring book application that is far too sensitive and frustrates even adults.  Curiously, one thing that every app he has does have in common is that they are unbearably loud and annoying at 3:49 a.m.

It’s just so cool to see how proficient he is with it.  For a kid with fine motor issues and a heaping dose of dyspraxia-the things he can do with the iPod Touch are quite impressive.

There is a practical desire in wanting an iPad too.  I came across a social story application which I think could make a world of difference in our lives.  I admit that I suck at writing social stories.  It’s not that I can’t do it.  It’s that I’m not wired to plan that far in advance.  We’re never quite sure what transition/event/change is going to be the “big one”.  Sometimes the things we expect to be the most egregious offenders slip quietly by, and the little hiccups we never expected cause a tsunami.

For example, we spent several days preparing Peter for his cousin’s birthday party today.  We feared he might become confused and lose it.

The birthday party went off without a hitch.  Our worst moment came hours before when his cousin went upstairs to nap.  He was so bereft that playtime was interrupted that he let out a blood curdling scream and bit a nice chunk out of my shoulder (hence the blue).

If we had an iPad would we have been able to avoid Armageddon?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I’m not sure I ever really know when or where a social story would’ve been effective until after it’s too late.  Would I be more inclined to use social stories if we had an Ipad?  Probably.  Would it be cool to read Us Weekly on iBooks?  Absolutely.

The point, of course, is moot.  Gus has informed me that it is indeed preferable to pay rent than to purchase an iPad.  Something about “things that grownups do”.  I told him that if we had to live out of the car, he could still probably play World of Warcraft by stealing wifi in the McDonald’s parking lot.

I’m pretty sure he’ll come around.

~ Do you have a child with Autism that is non-verbal or minimally verbal?  The HollyRod Foundation is giving away iPads this holiday season.  Get your application in!

Reason and logic are two words wholly in-congruent with the driving philosophy in my life.  I have to admit that shooting from the cuff has served me fairly well thus far.  Following my heart has most of the time taken me down the right path.

But this time it’s different.   There are a million reasons why adding to our family would be frivolous.

The truth is there is only one compelling argument towards having a second child – which is because we want one.

Granted, that’s a pretty good reason, but does it outweigh the risks?

The genetic risk of having a second child with Autism?  On paper it’s 9%, in practice it seems higher.  Not that we wouldn’t/couldn’t rise to the occasion and embrace another child with Autism – but the expense, time and responsibility of caring for a second child with special needs is a daunting task.

The possibility of having a second child without Autism?  Would Peter’s sibling find themselves receiving less attention due to his needs?  Would we be able to provide emotionally for him/her?

Financial?  Kids are crazy expensive.

Pregnancy?  It’s a well known fact that pregnancy and I do not mix well.  Previous pregnancy losses aside, carrying Peter to 36 weeks nearly killed me.  I had 16 weeks of strict bed rest, was on blood pressure meds for preeclampsia, and finally was induced due to impending blindness.  I was lucky to escape relatively unscathed with only small areas of permanent vision loss.

Age?  I’m not in my 20′s anymore, and were we to have another child it wouldn’t be for at least a handful of years (Peter’s needs are still so focal at this point) so we’re looking at mid-late 30′s.  I don’t know what that means specifically for us.  I do know that I’m already feeling my age.

My biggest concern of all?  Could I ever love a child with the same veracity as I do Peter?  Would my love for a second child be less?  Do I want to open my heart to another child?  Do I want to risk taking even a moment of my time away from my beautiful boy?  Or does love grow?  Of course it grows, right?  And the sibling love would be an additional joy.  Yet still, I’m awfully protective of my Peter.

I’m sure I could list nearly 100 more reasons why it’s a crazy, mixed up, horrible, unbalanced idea, but I think it would be futile.

There are always “what ifs”.  Probably more “what ifs” for us than for others.  Probably more “probables” too. But ultimately it comes down to where we are at that moment…whenever that is…and whatever that brings.

I suppose we can’t plan too carefully, just as we can’t take life too seriously.   A lot can happen in a few years.  As we know a lot can happen in an instant.

It’s nice to know this isn’t a decision we’ll have to make in the near future.  It’s nice to know that there is still a decision to be made, that we both find ourselves still somewhat in limbo over closing that door completely.

So again I focus myself on the here and now.  On every joy that motherhood has brought me, and feel grateful that regardless of what the future may or may not hold – in Everybody’s Boy my life’s work is complete.

PS:  Cause he’s doing all kinds of cool things lately.

There are things of which we don’t speak.  Entire conversations that happen in the moments between words.  Dreams and fears and pain and loss that we dare not articulate – because to speak it would mean to feel it.

And who has time to feel?  Isn’t it easier to just squish it all down inside and solider on?

Because not doing so would be the most egregious act.  Because the line between what you deserve to want and shutting up and being grateful for what you have is precarious at best.

So for weeks, months and years you deny yourself the luxury of want – all because of a nagging desire to subscribe to some sort of perceived societal rule that may or may not exist outside your own neurosis.

You can’t talk to your friends or your family or your husband about it.

You fear judgment.  You fear that they’ll tell you no.  That the unspoken rule really does exist – and that in what you feel are the safe confines of your loved ones lies the enforcer of this rule.  This rule, that may or may not exist.  This desire that you may or may not have.  This choice that may or may not be your own.

On an ordinary Saturday you and your husband watch your son playing soccer – and you see a spark of independence in his movements – and are immediately overcome by the reality that he is no longer a baby, or even a toddler.   He is a little boy.

Through tears of pride and pain a vision as pervasive as it is intangible screams.  “Not now!”, you beg.  “I can’t deal with this now.”

It drums its insistence louder and louder, right there in the middle of the soccer field.  You search your purse for a pink pill.  You try to focus focus FOCUS on your son, the tangible one, and all of his miraculousness.

Later, at Red Robin, you find yourself sobbing inconsolably, hot tears pooling on a greasy plastic menu, while trying to place an order for food you don’t want.  Your husband is peering at you with a look of half concern and half mortification.

“What is it?”, he asks.

<I can’t say it.  This topic is off limits.>

Yet something bigger and bolder possesses you and before you can carefully articulate something more…diplomatic…you blubber.

“Everyone is PREGNANT.  Every single person I know. It’s so annoying!”

He laughs a little too hard (in relief?  terror?) and replies, “Everyone is not pregnant, Debby.  You aren’t.”

You aren’t amused.  The sobs are heavy now.  You’ve come this far.  You might as well…put the final nail in the crazy coffin.

“What if we had another baby?  I mean, not now, but some day?”

Silence

“Mom, I want Sesame Street games on the iPod.  Mom.  Mom.  You are crying, Mom.  Can I have the iPod?  Please.  Please.  PUH-LEASE!”

Silence

“Yeah, maybe someday.  That would be nice.”

“Is he different?”, I asked.

“Yes, honey, he is…a little bit.”, he said.

“Oh.”, I sighed as hot tears burned my eyes and then erupted in mascara rivers down my cheeks.

It’s not like we’ve never had that conversation.  It’s not like there is some revelation in those words.  It’s not like…we didn’t know.

But did we?

Did I?

Maybe I didn’t really realize what this all meant for us.  Maybe it didn’t register that the beautiful curly haired “baby” would one day be a boy, then a young man, and an adult.

Maybe I didn’t appreciate that being bright and talkative can be deficits too.

It’s just that there is this person who holds the answers to all of life’s unanswered questions; the cure to cancer, the solution to end poverty and hunger and war and pain.

There is this person that can change the world.

Or maybe not.

I don’t know.  Because he can’t tell me.

He can tell me that squares have four sides and four right angles.  Or that Frank Beard from ZZ Top actually doesn’t have a beard at all, but a mustache.   Or that snow is precipitation that freezes as it falls from the sky.

And I’m proud of those things.  I grateful to hear/know his voice.  I remember longing for it. Begging the gods for just one “Mommy”…never expecting the miracle that is today.

It’s easy for me to get lost in celebrating our amazing fortune.  To think that somehow because we have acquired “words” it’s all better.  To find myself questioning if it was all really “that bad”.  That maybe all the professionals were/are wrong.

To shake them and scream “Look!  See!  He has words.  Lots of them.  He has more words that most kids his age.  See this evaluation!  He’s okay!  It was just a mix-up, right?”.

But it wasn’t a mix-up.  The words are wonderful but they need a foundation.  We are building the house backwards.  We are starting at the top and working our way down.  That’s how this works.

And we’ll get there.  The house will get built.  Maybe it’ll take some special contractors and some innovation – and a lot more time – but make no mistake – the house will get built.

Because that house might just might be home to one of the most brilliant and prolific minds ever.

And even if it’s not – I’d still like to know my neighbor.