We CHOSE Autism

There are two dictionary definitions for the term, "adopt."

1. Legally take (another's child) and bring it up as one's own.

2. Choose to take up, follow, or use.

Obviously the first definition is very applicable to my husband and I. However the second one is what I tend to hyper-focus on.

You would be surprised how many families I run into that have some relation to someone with autism. In fact, CDC researchers reported that autism rates in the United States increased from 1 to 150 Children in 2000 to 1 in 54 in 2016, and the rate now stands at 1 in 44 children. Each family has their own story, ranging from absolute disastrous to "eh, we're hanging in there." Sharing autism stories with fellow autism moms is one of my favorite things to do, each kid is so different in so many straight up weird ways. (Sorry not sorry for the potentially offensive use of the word "weird." If you know, you know. And if you aren't part of the autism club, you don't know.) My kid is weird. Like, doesn't-even-know-if-she-wants-to-claim-english-or-spanish-as-her-first language, licks-her-own-reflection, eats-both-ends-of-the-french-fries-and-puts-the-middle-back level weird.

So you better know that when I sit with a mom and I look over and her kid is also acting like they just might fall to their death through the cracks in the playground bridge, I feel at home.

I promise this all will circle back to my definition, stay with me. While having these conversations with fellow autism moms and dads, eventually I get to decide whether or not to disclose one major piece of information that separates us from our comrades almost every time. How can our children be so similarly different in their autism-"isms" and have something that still separates us from most?

Avery is adopted. This isn't new information for you, I get it. But she's like, ADOPTED. As in (referencing part two of the definition above,) we CHOSE that. We CHOSE autism.

And not in a "tell me how amazing we are for taking in such a difficult child, we are the most amazing humans ever" kind of way.

But more in like a, "WHAT HAVE WE DONE?" way.

Jason and I even have a "what have we done" look.

- Avery drops a straw down a storm drain, realizes it's gone forever and dies? *The look*

-Avery pulls a Usain Bolt to try to escape her own sticky hand? *The look*

-Avery takes up residency at the top of the play structure where we know she is pooping? *The look*

-Avery requests her 175,092nd popsicle for the day? *The look

You get it.

So how am I supposed to sit with another mom, who is finding comfort in the fact that our families operate on such different systems than the rest (I know this because I too find comfort in other families dysfunction,) and tell her that Avery is actually adopted.

I know it seems silly, but we aren't here to discuss my irrational thought process. There is a difference. Imagine being pregnant for 9 months with this baby that has so many opportunities to be the smartest and most successful human to ever live- only to have that dream taken from you when your baby with so much potential isn't hitting all of his or her milestones on time- if at all. You adjust, just like we all do to those life changing events. But you like, ADJUST adjust. Not just keep it all together until the storm passes, you rework EVERY major life event that you had previously dreamed up for you child. There is not enough credit given to the parents of kids with not just autism, but any disability- their day-to-day looks okay, but at some point it dawned on them that life, like, all of it, looks different from then on out.

Jason and I? We chose that... I realize how pretentious that sounds. However, sometimes I feel like that fact takes a little bit of sympathy away from us. We made our bed, right? We signed up for it! We never had that life-changing moment in the doctors office where it felt like our child's entire future was stolen. In fact quite the opposite- we waited and prayed for someone to finally tell us that we could have it. Diagnosis and all. The unknown future, the literal-everywhere meltdowns, THE STRAWS!

But does Avery's adoption story take away from the straight up trauma that an autism diagnosis was for my new mommy-friend at the park? I don't know.

Like I said, you didn't stick around to judge the level of my irrational-ness. And if you did, keep your verdicts to yourself- I definitely do not have the time for that. Im too busy changing a six year old's diaper, and talking to myself because said child is uninterested in anything I have to say, and grinding up medication to sneak it into literally ANYTHING I can, and choosing clothes based on texture instead of style, and worrying about my neuro-typical child having such a crazy sister. With all of that being said, Avery is not a hard little girl to love, and we want to share her with anyone who will let us- she's basically the best. And we would chose her all over again. Would we adopt more autism? Probably not. Honestly because I don't know how much chaos a family can take. But for now we are thankful for what we've got. Your kid might say "I love you" before bed every night, and I only get it about once a week, but when mine says it- and actually looks you in your eyes- my whole world stills and its all worth it!

So keep it up out there mommas, our lows are LOW.. but our highs are higher than any "typical" family can even imagine!