Daniel's birthday letter - age 7
Dear Daniel,
I wish you a belated happy seventh birthday!
I'm not so much astounded by the number of your age at this point. I think I'm getting used to the passage of time. But as I pause to reflect on the year that you were six, I am astounded, nonetheless. I am astounded by how much growing up you did in this last year and how much progress you have made in such a short period of time.
You've grown, changed, and progressed so quickly in this year that it's been difficult to keep up. And we have been so incredibly busy! You've had ABA therapy 3-5 days per week. First it was with a DTT therapist, but I concluded she was harmful and fired her. We switched to a NET therapist, Miss Nicole, whom we all adore. You've also had OT thrice and speech twice a week, and somewhat frequent other miscellaneous appointments. Your sensory processing has improved exponentially; your flexibility is within normal limits; stereotypic behaviors are only evident on very rare occasions and to people who know you extremely well who also know a ton about such things. In fact, over the last six months or so, it has become the consensus amongst your teachers, therapists, and other relevant providers that if you were assessed today, you would not meet criteria for Autism. Whether it is gone forever or merely in remission for a time, or whether your other stuff just looked for all the world like ASD, we don't know. For now, it doesn't matter; and it's neither good nor bad. It's also not a crystal ball, so as much as your Type-A mama always wants to tell the future, I can't speculate meaningfully on what is to come.
What I can reflect on meaningfully is this moment and the past. At the moment, we are thriving. Your dad loves his work, spending time with our family, and is training for a 50 mile race in June. I am loving life as a SAHM, lack of sleep, very busy schedule and all. And you are Super Daniel! (You gave yourself that name for playtime not so long ago, and I'm stealing it because it's the perfect description). You are every bit the perfect, whole, unique, wild, wonderful, powerful, intense, adorable person that I wrote to on the day that we received the terrifying diagnosis, only MORE so. You are still opinionated, sometimes shy, prone to anxiety, and fond of predictable routines, only LESS so. (Except the opinionated part. That hasn't changed.) You are humorous and serious, spiritual and embodied, cerebral and emotional. You are "grow[ing] up to yourself." And you blow me away!
We have reached this moment in our lives by acknowledging our challenges, seeking information on and help with the areas where each of us has struggled, celebrating successes, learning from mistakes, extending grace to ourselves and to one another when we blow it, and leaning deep and hard into our faith. I look forward to continuing to do lots and lots and lots more of all those things!
It's hard to believe that such a full year could contain more than I've already described. But, indeed, it has! The year was filled with great big milestones. You learned all sorts of things, developed new strengths and skills, had play dates without us, had your first sleepover, endured your fifth move, and finally got that sibling you'd been begging for. You are an amazing big brother to Baby Matthew. Before he was born, you made a series of videos intended to teach him life skills; you hold him, feed him, read and talk to him, and you're remarkably patient about having to share your parents' time and attention.
You make friends even more easily than in recent years and have your second crush. (You and Lydia broke up in the most adorable seen that her parents or I have ever witnessed, and these days it's all about Raelea)! You continue to like math but say that you were "born to read." In the last several months, your ability to read has skyrocketed and you've been reading voraciously all sorts of different things. For a few months your great lit love was Harry Potter. You also love the Magic Treehouse series and you tolerate the non-fiction fact trackers that go with them.
Thanks to your new found flexibility, you are being introduced to new things that delight you all the time. New book series, movies, games, activities, restaurants, and people. Among this year's discoveries are bowling, swimming, making your own movies on the computer, maps and navigation, and chess. And you're begging for archery classes.
This year my prayer for you and invitation to you are similar but not identical to last year's. I invite you to continue to stretch and grow; to risk and try and sometimes fail; to love and trust and dream, and try to fly. And also, I affirm the charge that you seem to have taken upon yourself. In an incredible way you are emerging. Continue to emerge, magnificent son. You've got this.
Love,
Mom
