Boy, am I tired.
Thirty-seven years of vigilance...and counting.
Eighteen years ago, I embarked on my most treacherous adventure, when I gave birth to The Boy via emergency c-section.
Both of us came close to dying that morning...but we made it. We're stubborn like that.
And now, The Boy has reached the milestone of adulthood (according to the law).
There were times when I thought that one or both of us would not make it.
I guess I shouldn't call him The Boy anymore...he's a young man now. He's not ready to take the world by storm, but he is making good choices and maturing nicely over the past year, so I have some hope.
I've seen the statistics on adults with autism, the odds are stacked against him as far as employment and living independently go...but he's reached further and higher than many experts thought he would to get where he is now.
Yesterday, he announced that he has plans to go to college and study drama - and I'll do all that I can to help him realize that dream.
He's not well-known now, but someday, maybe he'll have his fifteen minutes of fame. In anticipation of his eventual dramatic success, he's already perfected his autograph.
I was just happy he learned how to write his name in cursive.
We'll be lunching at iHOP (his choice); one of his friends from school will joining our celebration.
And sometime during the week, maybe he'll get his state ID card, and he'll sign up for Selective Service (though he'd never pass the mental health portion of the exam, thank God).
In a month, he starts his Senior year of high school.
The world is his oyster.
And I am now mother only to adult children...how weird is that?
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