K through 12

Today my eldest child, my first baby, Babycakes, started her first day of their senior year of school. The last "first day" of their school career.

I have watched so many moms over the years get weepy and emotional for their kiddos' senior years - holding on to every last drop of their childhood and their school days - before sending them off out into the world. Savoring the days - those moments that "we will never get back again." Even my husband said this morning that he was bawling, wistful at how quickly time has flown by.

Not me. I cannot wait for this phase of her life to be done. It has been a spanking machine of epic proportions. Harder than anything I ever expected - more arduous than the first time around when I was the student... by a mile. And I believe that Babycakes would say the same.

You see, Babycakes is autistic. Something that wasn't even on our radar back on her first day of Kindergarten. Before I had even heard of a 504 Plan. Or an IEP - Individualized Education Plan. Or Executive Functioning. We had no idea the difficult journey ahead for us on that day of fighting - fighting for services, fighting for accommodations, fighting to be understood, fighting to be heard, fighting to be believed, fighting to be accepted. Not to mention all the conflict - fighting with teachers, fighting with fellow parents, fighting with her peers - and of course fighting the shame, assumptions and stigma that society places on autistic individuals.

I have said time and time again that being Babycakes' mom required me to be both lion tamer and lioness at the same time. Exhausting.

But today is mercifully the beginning of the end of one particular fight. The SCHOOL fight. There were so many days I thought the fight would break her. That it would break me. All of us. I can never un-know what I now know - seeing things through the lens of a child who doesn't fit into their world. The unmistakable sharp edge of irritability and impatience in someone's tone of voice - to the breathtakingly cruel things people have said to my face about my kid. How heartbreaking it is to see what happens to a person when they are always misunderstood - by people who should understand. Teachers, therapists, counselors - ADULTS.

Not one single nostalgic tear was shed by me today - just relief and utter gratitude. I am so thankful that we got here, that we are both still standing. That one day at a time, we are marching farther and farther away from that time in our lives - and into the next phase...which may not be any easier, but will hopefully at the very least allow Babycakes more autonomy to be their authentic self and finally get to do things in their own time.

I fiercely love this kid - not tenderly, but fiercely with the red hot fire of a boiler that can power a locomotive. We have moved the immovable and getting to this day - this last leg of this journey - is a profound victory.