Cinco de Mayo, Supermoon, and Other Scary Stuff

To say that my son doesn't take to new things is an understatement. Jacob doesn't like anything new or different. It doesn't matter how we try to sugar coat it, if it is new, he wants nothing to do with it.

Last week our neighbor mentioned getting a bunch of people from the neighborhood together for a Cinco de Mayo party. Nothing special, just food, drinks, and gathering together outside. Usually Jacob loves this kind of thing. He's all about yummy snacks and playing with his friends. It is something we do fairly often, just families hanging out together outside on a nice night. But I made the mistake of calling it a "Cinco de Mayo" party.

"I'm not going," Jacob told me.

"Jacob, why?" I asked. "You love when we have parties outside. I'll make something yummy. You can play with your friends."

"NO!" he yelled, "I don't like Cinco de Mayo."

Why hadn't I just called it a party. The word "party" was fine. Jacob new his role. He knew what to expect. It was all familiar and something he enjoyed. I had opened a can of worms, and there was no going back. So for the next hour or so, we discussed in detail the what a Cindo de Mayo party entailed. From already taking two years of Spanish classes, Jacob knew what the words meant. But he was still nervous. He was scared of the Cinco de Mayo party. What if it got dark? What if someone played basketball and a ball rolled out in the street? The worries kept coming. After close to an hour of explaining what the party would look like, Jacob was satisfied enough to go to bed.

The next day I made no mention of the party. Nor the next, or the next. I was waiting as I knew Jacob at some point would bring it up again. He doesn't forget anything.

So the day before the party he asks, "Mommy, what are you making for the Cinco de Mayo party?"

Whew! That was my green light that he was ok with it and had worked through whatever was bothering him about it. The Cindo de Mayo party was no longer a threat.

But there's always something else menacing out there.

Oh yes, the ever-threatening Supermoon was also going to be the same night as our party.

I knew I dare not mention it, despite my son's love of the moon since he was a toddler. Whenever we are out at night, Jacob is always searching the sky for the moon. It becomes a competition to see who can find it first. He can tell me if it's waxing gibbous or waning gibbous. Where I still have no clue, and just say full or crescent.

But this time I knew better. I had learned my lesson from adding Cinco de Mayo in front of the word party. There would be no "super" in front of our moon. So I made no mention of the moon that everyone was talking about. We made our treats for the party, and headed over to see our friends.

Jacob had a blast! He ran around with his friends, tried all the food, and pretended to be the server talking to everyone at the party. He even participated in the parachute which he hasn't done since his second birthday. That was a very proud moment for me seeing him laughing with the other kids as they shook the parachute and took turns running underneath.

And as the day became night, and the party began to wind down some, I went in search of my son. I found him inside with his friends playing the Wii. And that's when the Supermoon talk began. His friend who was anxiously awaiting the Supermoon mentioned something about it, and it set Jacob off.

"What! I don't want to see the Supermoon! No!" he said the panic already setting in. I knew things were about to get out of control quickly, so I phoned my husband who was home putting our baby girl to bed informing him that Jacob would be home soon and of the impending meltdown due to the moon.

"Jacob, it's fine. It's nothing to worry about. There's no moon," I told him as I guided him outside."

"But I don't want to see the moon!" he said loudly his panic rising as we began our walk through the party.

As we walked down the driveway, there was moon talk everywhere around us. I could feel Jacob stiffen in my grasp as I saw the moon brightly shining through the trees. A well meaning neighbor unfamiliar with Jacob's fears  must have heard Jacob say moon, and said to him, "You want to see it? It's right there."

I quickly intervened, "Oh no. There's no moon here in the city tonight. That's just a street light," and as fast as I could I guided Jacob across the street to our house where my husband was waiting, thankful that the tree shielded his view of the Supermoon.

The thing is, had Jacob seen the moon on his own he would have thought it was the coolest thing ever. He would have proudly pointed it out and we would have discussed how awesome it looked. But just hearing that word "Super" in front of it, made it scary. Something was different about this moon to draw so much attention and a new name, so therefore his guard was up. As much as I would have loved to share that moment of looking at the Supermoon with my son, it was better to just put him to bed. As I laid beside him in his bed, his little eyes could barely stay open, yet he continued to cry fearful of a terrifying moon. I can only imagine in his mind what he had envisioned a Supermoon to be.

The day was done with  no major meltdown to mention. They had all been warded off somehow. What would tomorrow bring? Oh yes, that's right.

Thunderstorms!

The Secret Word is...ASPERGERS (shh...)

It's funny how words that before where never part of your vocabulary become everyday words.

Seven years ago I was anticipating the arrival of our son Jacob. Our first baby! A boy!  As a first time mom, I wanted everything to be perfect. His little room was painted baby blue. His cute teeny clothes hung in his closet waiting for his arrival. I couldn't wait to be a mom. Seven years ago my vision was of a perfect baby boy and a perfect family.

Seven years ago I hadn't even heard of Aspergers.

Well, maybe I had. Maybe somewhere I had read it, but I'm sure if I had I skimmed over the article, and was probably unsure how to even pronounce it correctly. I knew a little about Autism just from the parenting magazines I read while waiting to see my obstetrician each week. I knew that more and more kids were being diagnosed with it, but I didn't fully understand it.

And then Jacob was born. He was perfect. As perfect as every child. It was amazing to me the amount of love you could have for something so foreign and new. I admit I had never changed a diaper before my son. I loved kids, but was terrified of babies. My husband taught me everything I needed to know. I am and was a nervous mother. By nature I am a thinker, worrier, over-analyzer. Thankfully my husband's spontaneous nature evens us out some. And so here I was spending my days as a stay at home mom for the first time with this sweet little bundle of joy that I was so worried I would somehow mess up.

But I had a secret. Things weren't perfect. I knew something wasn't right. As a baby Jacob cried a lot. Being a first time mom I looked at myself. What was I doing wrong? As Jacob grew it became more and more obvious to me that something was amiss. Oh, he met all his milestones early. He was a big talker and incredibly bright. But something wasn't right, and I knew it despite everyone telling me my son was fine.

At the age of two while Jacob was singing the alphabet backwards and counting well past 20, I was busy googling like crazy trying to piece together the things that were off about my son. Everything pointed to Autism. Yet some things didn't quite fit. He was very verbal. There was no regression that you read about with Autism. In so many ways he was flourishing. But I continued my late night google searches taking every quiz out there on Autism.

And then one day I happened to stop at a garage sale. I almost didn't stop. They didn't have much stuff, but I saw a stack of books and I couldn't pass that up. There in the stack was a book called "The Sensitive Child" for all of a quarter. Hmm...maybe that fit Jacob. He sure was sensitive. As I went to pay, I asked the woman having the sale if the book had been helpful. She said yes, but I also needed another book. In my hands she placed a book on PDD-NOS and Aspergers. She went on to tell me how that book had made all the difference and she wanted me to have it at no cost. I left with my two books for a quarter, tossing them in the seat behind me.

That night as my husband slept, I opened the book on Aspergers. Little did I know that it would change so much. Little did I know that this word, Aspergers, would become such a big part of my life. This was my son. This was everything Jacob was. It all fit. Finally.

Yet I didn't go out and shout it to the world. Jacob was four and actually thriving at the time in his new preschool, so getting a diagnosis didn't seem urgent. Even though I knew deep down that it all fit, I was still in a lot of denial. Plus my husband wasn't quite at the same place as I was. He was in a much deeper denial at the time and was looking inward thinking all Jacob's problems stemmed from our parenting, not realizing it was something beyond our control.

But that word stuck in the back of my head and wouldn't leave.

Aspergers.

Aspergers.

I left it there for a while. Now I had a new secret word to google. Everything I read continued to confirm my suspicions, but there was little information on how to actually help your child. It also said that getting a diagnosis at a young age was difficult and most children were diagnosed closer to seven or eight.

Slowly over the next few years the word Aspergers became less threatening. It didn't seem so scary anymore. No longer did my heart start to race or my stomach turn just at the sight of the word. Finally when Jacob was six and at the beginning of first grade, my husband and I were both on the same page and ready to move forward with the diagnosis.

Sure enough, it was Aspergers. I've never felt so relieved in my life. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Now we could move forward. And move forward we did. With any diagnosis you have a choice, keep it to yourself or tell people. After much thought, together we decided on the later. There was no shame in Aspergers. And more than anything I wanted to spread awareness and understanding. If I could possibly help just one mother who was up late at night googling Aspergers hoping to find help for her child, it would be worth it. I couldn't do that if I kept Jacob's diagnosis a secret. In time it is a something we will share with Jacob as well, when he is a little older and able to understand more.

Seven years ago I had no idea how one word could change our life. Seven years ago I had no idea how one child could bring so much joy. Seven years ago I naively thought life could be perfect. Now I know that life can be wonderful without being perfect.

Aspergers.

It's ok to say it. It's no longer a secret.

Weathering the Storm

I'm anticipating the school calling any minute.

It's storming right now. The sky is dark. Every few seconds there is a clap of thunder and lightening striking. My baby girl sits beside me watching Bubble Guppies unfazed by the constant interruptions of thunder. The wind is beginning to pick up, whipping the swings at the playground behind our house making the chains clang against the metal posts. There have been storms about everyday it seems this past week. But it is the Midwest in Spring, so it is to be expected.

I have a love/hate relationship with the weather. I guess you could say I am fascinated by it. If I had Aspergers, weather would be my obsession. During tornado season, there is nothing I want to do more than sit and watch the weather play out on the Weather Channel. I know, boring. Tornadoes intrigue me. My friends always joke that you could call me at any time of day or night and I could tell you the forecast. Maybe I missed my calling. But despite my slight obsession, I am terrified by it all. I wouldn't dream of showering during a lightening storm. Snow forecasted, and I don't venture too far from home. Tornadoes, and I begin stacking blankets in our basement and finding everyone's shoes. I've never wanted to project my fear of the weather on Jacob, so I have always been careful to make him oblivious. And for the most part, storms have never bothered him. He had never even inquired about them.

That is until this past week.

All of a sudden, Jacob is scared of storms. Terrified to the point where he panics beyond any reasoning. When I ask him about it, he claims he has always been scared, and it is nothing new. I beg to differ. While other kids would be afraid, Jacob was calm. With his fear of loud noises, even I thought it was odd that he wasn't bothered by storms, but he remained unrattled.

So I've been trying to process this whole new fear. The last few months have been anxiety ridden for Jacob with new fears popping up all the time. It's hard for my to decipher is the fear really what is bothering him? Since so many new fears keep happening, is he displacing whatever is really bothering him onto what could potentially be threatening at the time? His anxiety always gets worse at night, so is it possible that the fear is actually a fear of being alone and separating from us? Or maybe he is simply wanting that reassurance from us that everything is ok, and so he begins to outwardly panic to get whatever comfort he is needing. I really do not know.

What I do know is this fear is much harder and different than the others. Why? With the other fears we can talk him down from the ledge if you will. Calm him some. Help him get "unstuck" and think about something else. Sometimes all it takes is a little baseball talk. But thunderstorms are relentless. They keep coming and coming, making the anxiety and fear grow with each loud clap. And then just as we get him to a better place, another loud clap strikes.

The other night was particularly bad. The storm was very loud and Jacob was shaking uncontrollably. He began crying out to God, "Why are you doing this to me, God?" as the tears rolled down his face. Those are hard words to hear your six year old cry out. Words that many times I have had to force myself not to let surface. "Yes, God, why are you doing this? Why does my son have to be so afraid? Why does he have to have such paralyzing anxiety? Why? Why?" But I try not to let myself go there.

The storm has passed with no call from the school. Tonight's forecast shows a 40% chance of thunderstorms at 5:00, with the next five days clear and not a chance of storms until Sunday. Until then, we will keep on weathering the storms as they come, knowing this too will pass.

The Boat Award

The other day when I picked Jacob up from school, he was unusually happy. He bounded out the door with a big smile on his face scanning the crowd looking for me. Once he found me, his smile got even bigger, "Mommy! I got an award!" he yelled.

"It's in my backpack," he told me excitedly as he ran up and gave me a hug.

He started telling me all about it. It was a "Boat Award". Hmmm...my interest was peaked. I knew that the day before Jacob's class had made boats out of recycled items.

Let's rewind about a month ago. Jacob's teacher had asked for each student to bring in recycled items such as milk jugs, boxes, cartons, so each child could make a robot. I knew when I first read about it that it would be a challenge for Jacob. But my husband lovingly saved all our recycling for two weeks filling one of those huge black garage size garbage bags, hiked it over his shoulder and carried it up to school on the assigned day. There was by far enough materials for the whole class.

That afternoon when I picked Jacob up from school, I saw each of his classmates walk out one by one carrying their robot creations. Jacob was the last to walk out, hands empty. He looked distraught that day. As we walked home I gently asked about his missing robot. "I didn't make one. I don't want to talk about it."

I left it at that figuring he would fill me in when he was ready. That night his teacher sent out pictures of the class making their robots. Jacob was no where in the pictures. My heart sank as I viewed the other kids proudly smiling posing with their creations. Later Jacob did tell me that he didn't know how to make the robot, so he didn't do it. It didn't surprise me. Open ended projects like that are very difficult for Jacob. It's not that he isn't creative. I have seen him design elaborate make believe zoos with Lincoln Logs and blocks in his bedroom. It's the putting together. The cutting, gluing, and assembling where he falls short. Even if he had a grand robot planned in his mind, he would have no idea how to construct it.

It saddens me to think, did he want to participate? Did he have an idea for a robot in his mind, but was unsure where to begin? Was it his lack of confidence in his cutting and gluing abilities that kept him from contributing? Or maybe he honestly didn't care. Maybe he was content with watching.

And so when a few weeks later another request for recyclables came home, I dismissed the note tossing it in the trash. I made no mention to Jacob about the impending project as I knew it would be met with resistance and a desire to stay home from school that day.

So when Jacob informed me of his "Boat Award", I was delighted.

He couldn't even wait to get home to show me the award. Instead he stopped at the school playground digging through his backpack. As he pulled out his certificate, he was beaming. Sure enough there it was, "Boating Award presented to Jacob for Boat with the least pieces".

Naturally I made a big deal of it telling him how proud I was of him for getting an award and for participating. But the obvious question remained, and I had to ask, "So how many pieces did you use?"

"Just one!," he answered proudly. "I used a straw box!"

I held in my urge to giggle. That is so typical Jacob. Leave it to him to find the easiest solution to the problem and use one piece.

I was more than thrilled he had joined in and was able to share the experience with his classmates, even if he didn't actually construct anything. Throughout the years it has become a trend for Jacob to not participate. I have witnessed it at many class parties where he opts out of the games unsure of the expectations, so he simply watches. Art projects rarely come home, yet I see them displayed in his classroom, so I know his peers are partaking. So I've often wondered, how much is my son missing out on because he is too scared to try something new or unsure of what to do or his role in the activity? How often does he watch his classmates instead of learning to enjoy the experience himself? I don't fault his teachers. I know from our own occurrences, that coaxing Jacob to do something unknown no matter how small is about impossible. He has to do it on his terms.

Later that night when the pictures came through from his teacher, I opened them hesitantly. There was Jacob amongst all his classmates bending over a baby pool filled with water. He was grinning from ear to ear. And there in front of him was his one piece straw box boat floating in the water.  I couldn't have been more proud.

The Waiting Game

The phone call came late Monday afternoon. The phone call we had all been anxiously waiting on. The phone call that every night Jacob inquired about. The phone call we all hoped could help.

And so Monday when I picked Jacob up from school, I waited for the question. Sure enough it came.

"Mommy, when do I get to go see that doctor?"

"Tomorrow," I replied. Jacob answered with a surprised "huh?" and a big smile on his face. He was so used to me saying "soon" or putting him off as much as I could because I simply didn't have the answer. But this time I did, and it surprised us both.

When the phone call came  Monday afternoon to set up Jacob's appointment at the Developmental and Behavioral Sciences Department at the hospital, I really figured it would be weeks before we would be seen. How shocked was I when they asked if we were available the following day. Of course I said yes. Somehow we would make it work. We had all been waiting for this phone call and I wasn't about to drag it out any longer. His appointment would be ninety minutes and with a child psychiatrist who would determine where we go from here.

To say Jacob was excited was an understatement. Never has a child been so willing to see a doctor. In fact, he was so excited that the next day, the day of his appointment, he told his teachers all about it and was counting down the minutes until Spanish was over, knowing I would be picking him up shortly after.

Surprisingly I wasn't that nervous about the appointment. Usually these sort of things make me anxious. My only worry was what if they came back after listening to us and meeting Jacob and said he didn't have Aspergers. What then? A crazy worry, I know, but from years of being told my son is fine, I think it is a worry that still sticks. We had made it this far, I wasn't about to go backwards.

After a short wait in the waiting room, we were greeted by the psychiatrist and two student doctors. Beings it is a children's hospital, they made Jacob feel welcome and secure right from the beginning. You could tell this was old hat to them. We all settled in. The doctor wanted to meet with us separately first to get a feel of the struggles we were having and asked that Jacob play quietly outside the door. That would be a challenge as Jacob never ventures too far from us, especially in a new environment. Jacob opened the door repeatedly, and I knew he wouldn't be able to do it. After explaining to the doctor that Jacob was also diagnosed with separation anxiety, one of the student doctor's joined him so he wasn't alone. I could hear through the door, Jacob filling in this young doctor hopeful on every animal fact he knew. There is nothing Jacob likes better than a captive audience.

The doctor asked us to describe our son. We started from the beginning, going over all the struggles, challenges, and anxieties that we see in Jacob. We also talked about his strengths and how he is an incredible kid. At the end the doctor said that he agreed that the Aspergers diagnosis was spot on. Whew! The words I needed to hear.

He then talked about how the changes by the DSM-V on Autism will only change Jacob's diagnosis to "Autism" instead of "Aspergers" next year once they go into effect. Again a sigh of relief. I was so worried that somehow with the changes Jacob would be phased out and suddenly "normal" and no longer eligible for any kind of services. I do have issues with the changes to be implemented, but that's a whole other post.

Many times as we were telling Jacob's story, the doctor responded with "Wow!" and would glance at the student doctor. I wanted so badly to ask, "What does 'wow' mean?" Is my child odd even amongst children with Aspergers? I know his fear of balls rolling down our street is certainly not your average everyday fear, but is it that exceptionally strange?

We discussed options and what to do next. Of course one option is medicine. Always a scary thought putting your child on a medicine that will alter their personality and has some alarming side effects. But it's a possibility we have to consider. If it is going to help Jacob, it has to be considered. I was happy that the doctor didn't seem to push it and said there was no rush. It was hard to gauge how he felt about medicine anyway. His statistics on the difference it made, didn't seem to make that compelling of an argument that we felt a definite choice one way or the other. We left that decision open for now.

After going over our options the doctor had Jacob join us. It was interesting to me watching him interact with the doctor. The doctor asked him about the things he likes, animals and baseball. A good ice breaker for Jacob making him feel at ease. And then he asked about fireworks at baseball games, which led to other things that Jacob is scared of, mainly the balls rolling down the street. I was proud of Jacob and how he answered the doctor's questions and tried explaining his feelings and fears, something that is not easy for anyone to talk about. 

Our ninety minutes was up. I think each of us could have easily talked an additional ninety minutes. We wrapped things up by deciding that our next step would be to try behavior therapy. Again a waiting game on a different doctor's schedule. Hopefully within the next month we would be able to get in for our first appointment.

In the car on the way home, I told Jacob what would be happening next. Naturally he wasn't happy with waiting and I hated giving him that news.

"Jacob, It's a process," I started to explain.

"What's a process?" he asked.

"Well, there are steps. This was the first step meeting this doctor. Then there will be step two. Then step three..."

"WHAT?  There's a step three!" he groaned.

I get his frustration. He wants his mind clear. He wants to stop feeling afraid. He wants to go to sleep at night without thinking scary thoughts. He wants results now, just like we do. But it is a process. A process with no real conclusion. For now I will let Jacob think it ends with step three. He doesn't need to know that this is a battle he will be fighting his entire life, these challenges associated with Aspergers. There could and will be many more "steps".

So this morning, I waited. Would that same question come up that Jacob has asked over and over for the past month since that initial contact we made with the hospital. But instead of the same old question, Jacob posed a new one.

"Daddy, when do I get to go to Doctor Two?"

Slide at Your Own Risk!

This past weekend was our big zoo-get-away vacation. I probably have enough material just from those two days to write posts for the next month. It was a great weekend, with many highs and as to be expected a few lows.

The hotel we were staying at was nothing fancy. We had looked at nicer hotels in the area, but Tripadvisor pointed us to this one. The selling point, a pool designated for kids with two water slides and no part deeper than three feet. Perfect for my two swimmers.

Both of the kids couldn't wait to get their feet wet, and Saturday morning we headed down to the pool. Again, it wasn't fancy. Clean and just as promised, kid friendly. The baby slide was in the shape of a frog and came out in the one foot area. The "big" slide was just a little taller than I am, with a long slow slope coming out into the three foot area.

When the baby girl saw them, she couldn't wait. " 'Wims, 'wims," she cried. She wanted to "swims". Jacob eagerly jumped in the water as well. He loves the water and splashing around. But I wasn't surprised when he went down the little frog slide instead of the other slide.

"Jacob, go check out the other slide," I told him trying to appear nonchalant to diminish any anticipated anxiety. "It's not over your head."

But it was a no go. My son is not a risk taker. Never has been and probably never will be. In situations like this I always enjoy observing him to see how he will respond.

I could tell by his glances toward the big slide that his interest was peaked and he wanted to go down. Normally he loves slides, and has definitely been on bigger than this one. But he was hesitant. I watched as he assessed this situation. First he walked the steps to the top of the slide. There he would stand until someone caught his eye, and then he would descend the stairs again. He'd go back in the pool for a few minutes, and then again would climb the stairs to the slide top again.

But the baby girl wanted to go down the big slide. She marched over to the stairs and started stepping up with no looking back to see if anyone was following. There is no fear in that one. Time and time again she went down on my husband's lap each time squealing with delight. She loved it! I thought watching his sister would help give Jacob the courage he needed. But still, no slide.

Next, I saw him checking it out from the bottom of the slide. He would stand at the bottom in the pool, then bend down, and stand up again measuring how high the water was on his body. Again, I thought this would seal the deal, but instead he got out of the pool and went down the baby frog slide again.

Over and over he would go down the baby frog slide. I'm guessing by the looks on some of the other parent's faces, they were wondering why this child larger than the slide itself was choosing that one over the much bigger and more fun slide. It didn't phase Jacob. He continued going down the small slide waiting his turn amongst the other toddlers less than half his size.

Still every once in a while he would walk over to the big slide and ascend the stairs. I'm guessing in his mind it was a battle. He knew from watching the other kids that were much younger than him, that the slide was fun and not scary, yet it was a mountain to him, and one he hadn't the courage to climb.

And so back and forth he would go. Every so often he would even get brave enough to actually sit on the slide. Once I even saw him rocking back and forth as he held on to the bars on the side. Oh, how I wished he had accidentally let go, as I knew he would have had a blast. But his momentum was cut short when another dad took his place in line behind Jacob. Instead of going down, Jacob politely got off and let the man have his turn.

My husband and I both tried reasoning with him on the slide. We both knew by his peaked interest that he wanted to go, but just couldn't let himself have that moment of losing control and letting go. But our efforts did little to change his mind.

The next morning, Jacob and his dad went down to the pool area while the baby girl and I caught up on some much needed sleep. They were down there for almost two hours swimming in a pool all to themselves. I figured over the course of those hours, Jacob would build the courage to go down the slide and wouldn't want to leave. When they returned to our room, I asked Jacob if he went down the big slide and he said "yes".

"You did!" I was excited for him.

"Well..., not really," my husband said.

Apparently Jacob climbed half way up from the bottom of the slide and then had my husband pull him down. Hmm...not the mountain climbing image I had in my mind, but I guess a step in the right direction. It's a struggle for my husband who is much more adventurous than me. Jacob takes after me as I am definitely more cautious. The baby girl, now that's another story.

"Well, honey," I said, "Just be happy you have one child with no fear." as the baby girl danced around saying " 'Wims, 'wims! Yea!"

So we have a diagnosis, now what?

I never expected that after Jacob's diagnosis we would have all the answers. Nor did I think he would suddenly be cured of his Aspergers. But I guess I naively thought there would be more direction. Like I had said before, Jacob's diagnosis was not a surprise to us at all. My husband and I were both in a place of acceptance at that time. Not one tear was shed. We had already known for so long, I think we were both ready to go to the next step. But what was that? I guess I had expected we would leave our doctor's office with tons of resources. Places to go for support, therapy, different approaches to try, solutions to problems, diet recommendations. Nope none of that. Just a sheet with a few possible locations to try and some books to check out. The books were a no go. Many I had already read, and the others seemed just to repeat the same old information. It seems like every book out there on Aspergers gives you great info on what it is, signs and symptoms, but very limited ideas on what to do to help your child.

And so for the longest time we have been just getting by, taking each day as it comes, the good with the bad and riding the roller coaster of Aspergers. I write often about the challenges and struggles, but there are many good days as well. There are more times than not where Jacob is just like every other kid running the neighborhood playing with his friends, going to school, playing sports, and just being a kid.

But then night gets here and it's time for bed, and it doesn't matter how good of a day Jacob has had, his fears begin to show. Every night I have the same conversation with my son.

"Mommy, when are we going to see that doctor?" he'll ask me.

"Soon, honey. We are just waiting for them to call," I answer although I really have no idea how soon is "soon".

"But mommy, I really need to talk to that doctor now," Jacob will say and I can see how very sleepy his eyes have become.

"Jacob, you need to go to bed, honey. There's nothing we can do about it now."

"But I need to see that doctor to get these thoughts out of my head, " Jacob tells me.

It doesn't end there. The conversation goes on and on with Jacob repeatedly getting out of bed asking the same questions over and over regarding seeing the doctor. The doctor he is wanting to see is a psychiatrist. Yes, my son is begging me every night to take him to a shrink. And every night it makes me heart ache for my son. Every night I feel helpless playing a waiting game on someone else to get Jacob the help he needs. How bad must it be that a little boy of six wants nothing more than to find someone to clear his mind?

Autism resources are limited and many times there is a long waiting list to get in. Not to mention all the paperwork to be filled out by the parents and school regarding behavior. I know as we filled it out the other night my husband was getting tired of me asking the same questions just worded differently over and over. "Would you consider your child's behavior odd? Always, Often, Sometimes, or Never?" hmm....where is the box for "it depends on the day"?

But it's a process, a lengthy one at that. Fortunately while attending a book signing last month we connected with the Autism Specialist Director at our local hospital and she is helping us put a rush on getting Jacob scheduled to be seen. A rush means hopefully yet this month. I am thankful for that, but it doesn't make our nights any easier as we try to explain to our son why he can't just go see this doctor now.

It seems like over the past few months Jacob's anxiety has grown tremendously. A few times a week he is adding new things that "bother" him. I've tried explaining to him that everyone has things that bother them and things we are afraid of in hopes it would help diminish his own worries. But it hasn't helped. Yesterday it was his sister's new leapfrog computer that was bothering him. He didn't like the look on the yak's face when you pressed the letter "Y".  "Jacob, just don't press 'Y' then." I told him. "I have to, mommy. I can't stop." Looks like that's another toy that may have to casually disappear.

And so each day we patiently wait for a call from scheduling. And each night we spend trying to reassure Jacob that everything is fine. I just hope when they do call they have a few extra hours to spare as Jacob sure has a lot on his mind these days, and with a captive audience I'm sure he will talk for hours.