I’ll back up some. She doesn’t. When Abby was born, I thought, “whew, at least it’s NOT autism.” Because autism is hard. For us, it’s been much harder comparing the two years with Abby and the first two years with Casey. MUCH. Casey regressed about 14 months. Things got worse than they already were.
Abby is nothing like Casey. Nothing. She’s been calm. Cute. Collected. Until now. I’m not going to lie. She’s been pretty bratty. I’m sure it’s just your basic two-year-old-run-of-the-mill-bratty-little-girl-who gets-indulged-WAY-too-much-because-she’s-cute crappiness, but then…
…but then I catastrophize. I make things worse than they are. Much. I think that the reason she’s been so hateful is because she’s regressing. I think the reason my boobs hurt is because I have cancer, and not because I spend several hours a day coaxing them to migrate back where they belong.
She’s regressing because she’s going to have autism too. Because her freaking chances of having it were already high because she has a sibling with it. Because 10% of children with Down syndrome also have ASD (but, given the new numbers I guess that’s about what a regular kid has going for him these days anyways...). And I’ve “missed” it so far because I’ve attributed all of her other delays, speech, gross and fine motor, etc, to the Down syndrome.
I’m a crazy person.
In the interest of full disclosure, I did this with Peyton, too. I see autism in everything.
That’s why I need a cat.
It’s also why you shouldn’t trust a damn thing I say. Ever.