Birthday Day, part 1

I'm highly organized. Which is another way of saying I'm anal retentive, but I get paid for it.

This is taken to something of an extreme in the way birthdays fall in my immediate family.

My elder son, The Boy, was born in July, on my dad's birthday. This was two weeks before his due date, and not brought about by any artificial means. Simple co-inky-dink.

So when I got pregnant with baby #2, the running joke was that he'd be born on my mom's birthday, but this was obviously a joke, since it would mean he'd be born a month early.

My younger son, Bamm-Bamm, did, in fact, arrive almost a month early, on June 2nd; again, not brought about by any artificial means. Another simple co-inky-dink.

When I met The Boyfriend (who we'll call Zander, because it will amuse him), I was more than a little pleased to find that his birthday fell on that same day in July as my dad and The Boy.

The ex-husband, Dick? Winter baby. Not even within the standard deviation for birthdays.

Anyway.

Today is one of the two days of the year I allow myself a little pity party. You see, Bamm-Bamm is autistic (actual diagnosis: PDD-NOS) and almost completely non-verbal -- his verbal skills were recently assessed to be in the 7-month-old to 18-month-old range. He turned 5 today. I started the morning by changing his diaper and listening to him coo at me. I sang him the Happy Birthday song, even though he doesn't know it's his birthday. He just knows he had a good day, because he got powdered sugar mini-donuts in his backpack to share with his class, and a balloon when I picked him up from daycare, and pizza for dinner.

I forget how behind he is until I'm around other kids of the same age. Most of the time, I don't even really think about his issues anymore. I can't. If I spend all my time dwelling on what could be, what should be, but isn't, it's paralyzing in the Now, and doesn't allow me to enjoy and appreciate what he CAN do. He's just him, different from other kids.

But twice a year, at his birthday and at Christmas, I let myself feel these things a little. It's hard not to, since they come to something of a head while I'm shopping for him. He has little interest in toys, and the toys he is interested in are in the baby section. I should be buying him Legos and Yu-Gi-Oh cards and books about dinosaurs, not a block sorter or a teething rattle. I should be taking him to tee-ball games and soccer, not occupational and speech therapy. It's not fair, dammit.

But. He makes great eye contact and is very social and happy, asking for hugs and kisses all the time. His smile lights up a room, and he's such a creative problem solver he keeps me on my toes. And he's actually making progress; I can see changes in him, incremental changes that open new doors. Tonight, he brought me the picture from his board that said, "Juice". I said, "Go to your room and get your cup for me, please." He did, and grinned at me when I told him thank you. Six months ago, this exchange would never have taken place. He's the King of Small Victories.

All this to say, Happy Birthday, Bamm-Bamm. Mommy loves you.