Today you turn four years old.  It’s quite a fun time for you.  It’s a time that you discover the wonderful world around you and how you fit into it. I've always loved watching you encounter your world with fascination and amazement.  Whether it's the wind blowing through the leaves or a grasshopper hopping around, seeing the world through your eyes always makes it look different to my own.

Birthdays are always a time to look forward to the many things that you will achieve, but it’s also one of those times that we look back at where you’ve been (you’ll get used to this eventually.  It’s something sentimental us parents like to do, usually with a little tear in our eye).  The past four years have been like a roller coaster ride for us all.  Somedays, it’s a thrill ride filled with laughter and surprises.  Sometimes, it’s full of twists and turns and it’s scary for everyone on board.

So humor me.  I’m your mother.  I’ll probably end up embarrassing you a little here (yeah, get used to that too), but allow me to reminisce.  

You were born at 8:30 pm, squawking like a little bird.  I had been in labor all day long and I was tired and thirsty, but after nine months of anticipation, sore backs and preparation, you were finally here.  I couldn’t wait to hold you, all wrapped up like a little burrito (and almost weighing as much as one of those Chipotle ones).

I’ll be the first to admit – the thought of being in charge of a little squalling, squirming person scared the crap out of me.  I’d never had any experience with kids.  Heck, I’d never even babysat before.  Sure, taking care of cats are one thing.  But they’re pretty self sufficient.  They can feed and clean themselves and other than the occasional hairball and shredded sofa, there’s not a lot of stress. You needed us to do everything for you.   It was a lot of responsibility that, quite honestly, no parenting book can ever really prepare you for.

You grew.  You slept.  A little.  We made some mistakes (that happens.  Get used to that too) and learned from them.   From your first smile when I woke up in bed to see you in the morning from your bedside crib to your first steps in front of an audience on Thanksgiving Day, you’ve grown in front of our very eyes.  Sometimes it seems as if you were growing up so fast.  Other times, when you were crying and screaming or waking up in the middle of the night, it seemed as if you couldn’t grow up fast enough.

There were days that you drove me crazy.  I’m sure I drove/drive you crazy too.  You’ll learn that there’ll be a lot of that to come in the future. There were days when you got tired and cranky and were ready to make life miserable for everyone and there were days when your smiles and giggles lit up the room.  I learned to make the best of those days and put them in my reserve, so I could savor them on those bad days.

On your first birthday, we had a big party with family and friends.  You oddly didn’t want anything to do with the cake (which was fine.  Daddy and I ate it instead) and we learned that you really didn’t like party hats.

You’re still not too crazy about them.

There was one milestone that we kept expecting that never came – your first words.  Along with the lack of speech came the tantrums, which we later learned were mostly from frustration from not being able to communicate your needs.  Oh, those tantrums.  They’d last for hours sometimes, leaving you, and us, in a sweaty, sobbing mess.

We got concerned.  We went our doctor who recommended getting some tests done.  We tried some therapy sessions through Early Intervention and on the suggestion of your therapists, we decided to have you tested for Autism.  

There were forms, questionnaires, quizzes and tests.  We took you for a morning long session with experts so they could conduct various tests with you.  Then we were told to come back in a week for the results.  That was the longest week of my life.

At the end of that week, we came into an office, sat down and I took out my pen and paper, anticipating that I would be writing notes and asking questions.  When they told us that they were going to diagnose you with Autism, all the questions I had were forgotten.  I had nothing to say.  The paper in front of me was blank.  I literally felt like the dreams and aspirations that I had for you before you were born were melting off of me right in that very room.  Suddenly, life had taken a quick turn for all of us.

I quickly learned, however, that although you had a diagnosis, you were still the same little boy that I had when I went into the room.  You were still the same loving, joyful child.  That never changed.  You were Alex.  Still. You may have been diagnosed as being Autistic, but you were determined, whether you knew it or not, to not make Autism determine who you were.

So we had a choice.  As with any label, we could let it make you who it wanted you to be, or we could fight it.  We chose to fight with sweat and tears.  Sometimes your tears.  Sometimes ours.  But with a lot of speech therapy and occupational therapy, you fought.  

Sure enough, on October 8th, 2007, you spoke.  You spoke!  You said “dada.”  Sure, it wasn’t me, but I didn’t care.  You spoke.  

And like your speech therapist said, once the words would come, they would come in a flood.  We would write each new word you came up with on a white board with pride.  It was like we were keeping score.

Eventually, we stopped keeping track. We just couldn’t keep up. The words were flowing so quick and so much, the whiteboard was retired.  With your ability to talk came fewer tantrums.  Now that you could communicate with us and you weren’t stuck wanting to say something but not knowing how, things became so much brighter for everyone.

It’s amazing how much you’ve grown just in the past year.  You’re going to preschool now and your knowledge is growing every day.  You’re learning more about the world around you and I can’t tell you how much that excites me.  The world is a very exciting place and I can’t wait to show you more.

Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Love, Mommy.