“Don’t compare,” they say.
“Your child will progress in their own way, in their own time.”
“There’s beauty in the different.”
All wonderful advice. All true.
But it’s not simple.
It stings sometime.
I live within our bubble.
To be honest, I am the bubble.
I protect. I contain. I shield.
But within that autism bubble, sometimes I drift in and out having a typical child, having other children in my life.
Sometimes I look outside; other times I don’t.
Sometimes I can’t.
We aren’t always part of that outside space.
And then come the moments where I see it — typical.
A child my son’s age doing things he isn’t even close to.
A mom and son laughing, connecting in ways I once imagined would be ours.

I see what could have been.
It’s a punch to the gut sometimes.
Maybe it shouldn’t be.
But I always pull myself back in.
Sometimes quickly, sometimes not.
Because what we have is beautiful.
It’s ours.
And my son. He is amazing and wonderful.
There is something profoundly beautiful about him doing things in his own time, in his own way.
I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel the sting —
to ache for what might have been and still love what is.
Both can exist together.
Both are true.
And somewhere in between those truths,
I find peace. Not because it’s easy,
but because he’s mine.

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