"I was Scared of Other Kids?"

"Why would I be scared of other kids?"

"I don't know why, Jacob. You just were," I answered.

The conversation had started earlier in the week on our short ride to school, and here we were again talking about it with only a few blocks left until we arrived at school.

The baby sister was starting preschool this week, so there had been lots of talk about her new school. Since Jacob hadn't actually been with when we toured the school, he had a lot of questions about it.

"But why is she not going to my preschool? Why is she going to a church preschool?"

"Why does she not have specials at her school?"

And "Why does she only have to go two days and I went every day to preschool? It's not fair!"

I didn't have good answers. Or Jacob wasn't liking my answers. So I gave him the truth, or an abbreviated truth in the few blocks time we had.

I told Jacob how he did in fact go to a church preschool, where he did go for only two days just like his sister would be. Somehow despite my son's remarkable memory he had completely forgotten this and only recalled his public school preschool.

Or course he wanted to know why he changed schools. I wasn't sure how to word it. Telling him his social skills were lacking wouldn't mean anything. The fact that he didn't transition well, would go right over his head. That he didn't play but instead walked around the room humming concerned about the Alphabet letters being out of order, would not appear odd to him at all.

So instead I told him that he didn't talk to or play with other kids.

Which was true. He didn't at the time. He talked to adults. But kids? Not really.

Since then, we have had the same conversation each morning on the way to school, because he just can't fathom it. He wants to know why he didn't talk to other kids. I tell him I don't know why, but how wonderful it was to have such a great preschool teacher to help him and teach him how to be a good friend.

He can't remember that time, and I am thankful for that. Those are some heartbreaking memories for me when I picked him up from his first preschool to find him sitting at the table alone instead of at circle time with his peers. To Jacob it seems so foreign that he wouldn't want to play or talk to other kids, where now it is the complete opposite. He won't leave kids alone. (Oh, there will always be social skills for Jacob to master!)

This morning we dropped the baby sister off for her first day of preschool. When we pulled into the parking lot, she said, "Bye mommy, bye daddy", as if we were just going to drop her off at the curb. My confident independent three year old probably would have walked right in on her own had we let her. Of course we walked her in. She sat right down and started playing play-doh as if she had done this many times before. There were no tears. None. Not one by her, or by me.

On the drive home, I asked my husband if he thought it was odd that I hadn't cried. With Jacob I had bawled my eyes out when he started preschool. When he started Kindergarten, I was a mess as I pried his arms from around my legs. Even this year as I walked him down the hall to third grade, my eyes welled up with tears.

"No," my husband told me. "You know that she is ready."

He's right. She is more than ready. And each year those tears I cry for Jacob are because I know that even if he excels academically, he is behind developmentally, socially, emotionally, and mentally. And those tears are tears of joy, for how far he has come.

Where has my Baby Boy Gone?

There are times when it just hits you. You realize in a blink of an eye your child has grown.

My son has grown a lot this summer.

Physically he has grown. Emotionally he has developed and matured. He's conquered new things.

In so many ways I am proud of him. Proud beyond measure. And of course, like every mother, it also makes me sad, yearning for those days when time stood still as I rocked my baby boy staring into his eyes. Eyes I still look at daily, but never is there time to just soak it all in.

It first hit me right after school let out. We were walking into the grocery store, when Jacob reached for my hand. On my right was the baby sister who has become programmed at three to always reach for my hand when in a parking lot. And as we began walking into the store, Jacob reached for my left hand. Maybe it was because I was holding his sister's teeny hand as well, but I realized his hand wasn't that much smaller than my own.

When had this happened? And how had I not noticed?

It made me sad the rest of the day and kept entering my head. My baby boy was growing up whether I liked it or not. I made a mental vow that day to notice and appreciate every time my son held on to my hand. Because lets face it, someday he simply won't need to, and at some point he may not want to.

Then last month, Jacob turned eight. Eight! How is that possible?

"He's the size of an average 12 year old boy," his pediatrician told me at his well visit.

Yes, it was confirmed. Jacob was indeed growing.

And I couldn't begin to tell you how many people have told me this summer, "Jacob, has grown taller since the last time I saw him!"

But beyond the physical stuff, he has grown in so many other ways. Is it safe to say that *gasp* he has possibly matured some? (or am I jinxing myself by saying that?)

Just the other day, the neighbor boys were outside playing baseball in the cul-de-sac. One of the boys got upset about a play, and left the game angry and crying. The boy was sulking in the garage, and Jacob slowly approached him. As I sat to the side I listened...

"Hey buddy. That was my fault out there. I really like playing baseball with you. I really want you to come back and play on my team. Let's go work it out..."

Here was my son, the one prone to his own meltdowns, the one who has cried over many a play in baseball, the one who has quit numerous games over the years, here he was calmly talking to this boy, reassuring him, helping him through his own anger.

Before long, Jacob and the other boy joined the others. They sat under the tree where they quietly and quickly agreed on the rules to make sure the same thing didn't happen again, and before long were playing baseball again.

It was awesome to watch.

There have been lots of surprises like that this summer.

Jacob went to baseball camp. He went to summer school and learned to swim, where last summer he wouldn't even go underwater. He's watched fireworks. He's learned patience with his baby sister, and without tattling can glance my way and give me a telling look.

Tonight as I went up to check on my baby boy before going to bed, I knelt by his bed and just stared at him as I had done night after night when he was a baby. I took it all in. How his feet hung over the edge of his bed. His thick hair matted to his forehead. His tanned skin wrapped in the bed sheet. This boy who used to fit in my arms, who nestled on my lap to watch Barney, whose tiny hand I could cup with my own was growing.

And as I knelt there by his bed, on his radio came this song.

"I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart. I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart..."

I had never heard it before. My music library these days involves old songs from the 90s and whatever Jacob tells me is "cool". But at this moment, this song was perfect.

I knelt there and silently sobbed. Tears of sadness for years that go so quickly. Tears for all the hard times and the days I had wished away because Autism had gotten the better of me. Tears of happiness for how far my son has come and for the greatness I know he will bring. Tears of unconditional love a mother has for her child.

Tears for the boy he is, and for the man he will become, and for my baby he will always be.