so quickly.

I don't know anyone else in our position.

I know people whose children have autism. I do not know any people, personally, whose child has autism and has recovered. I don't know anyone whose child has reached near recovery in such a short amount of time.

And here is the truth of it.

It's terrifying.

It's great, wonderful, bliss, the best feeling in the world. Yes, it is those things.

But it is very scary.

Because I keep searching. Analyzing. Watching. Worrying. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When you take a child who was fine until 20 months, then suddenly regresses to a child in such a unrelative state, then quickly emerges into the vibrant, smiley, happy, sociable child that you hoped she would be; it's alot to take in.

And you have to remember that this child is two years old. TWO. And most two year olds are volatile little things. Prone to temper tantrums. Everything is an emotional battle from getting into a carseat to putting a shirt on. They are stubborn, misunderstood, and wild. They can be the sweetest things on the planet but they are...two.

So take an autism diagnosis, a near recovery process, and suddenly a two year old. In the midst of another two year old who is used to running her own show.

It's chaotic.

And it's scary.

Lately, Justin and I have discussed in length about how scary it is. We are always over analyzing everything she does. She can be sweet and then in an instant completely tune us out. And most two year olds tune you out. Most  two year olds do not listen to you and want to do whatever they please. But the minute she doesn't respond to her name, we panic.

Tonight, after a long day single parenting while Justin is away at a funeral, I had all three of them in the bathtub and I was attempting to wash her hair. I know Maddy doesn't like getting her hair washed. None of my kids do. But she was just being SO outrageously naughty. She was pushing and screaming and just wild. I raised my voice and she raised hers and it became this horrible battle between her and I. Finally I realized what I was doing.

I was acting out my own fears. My own fears that without ABA she was slowly regressing. She was slowly not answering her name. She was becoming erratic. But the reality is, that she wasn't doing any of these things out of context to a two year old. I grabbed her out of the tub, wrapped a towel around her and whisked her into my arms.
She didn't want to look at me. She didn't want anything to do with me. I don't blame her. We struggled for a minute and I apologized to her. She smiled at me, told me she was sorry, and wanted to get back into the tub.

I let her go into the tub and as she splashed with her sisters, I sobbed on the floor. What is wrong with me? I am so terrified that I am going to lose her again. I can't lose her again. I can't. We worked so hard.

And there it was. There I was. Trying to control something that I cannot control.

So there I was, again, on my knees praying to God that I would trust Him again in this. Trust Him. I have no control over this, no matter what I think. I don't.

She is so amazing that I can't bear to go through that again. I couldn't bear to go through it with any of my children...they are all amazing. I don't wish Autism on any one's child. I don't. It's heart wrenching. Even in the best outcome possible, there are still hardships.

So as I sobbed on the bathroom floor with my daughters in the tub, Maddy says to me, "Mama. Mama. Open eyes, Mama."

So I looked at her.

She says, "Mama sad."

I said "yes, Maddy. Mama is sad."

Maddy says, "It's ok, Mama. I love you."

"I love you too, Maddy. Oh how I love you." I manage to say to her beautiful eyes.

And that. is. so. amazing.

Thank You, God. You always have exactly what I need.

Even in joyous times, fear can creep in. And so quickly. But the fact that my daughter with Autism can tell me to open my eyes, recognize that I am sad, and tell me that she loves me in order to comfort me, that tells me that hope always blinds out fear.

May I always remember this moment when I am questioning. May I always think back to the time when I cried out and she comforted me. May I always remember that I'm not in charge. God is. That I will trust in Him and His ways.
There is always hope.