We are the mothers who’s babies seemed perfect at birth.
We are the mothers whose babies always cried. Or didn’t cry at all.
We are the mothers who felt our tiny ones pull away rather than nuzzle in.
We are the mothers who came to expect little eye contact and worked so hard for every smile.
We are the mothers who watched. And waited.
We are the mothers who swallowed our fear and guilt and told a professional we had concerns.
We are the mothers who have had our lips cut, our eyes split, our cheeks bruised, our hearts broken by violent melt downs.
We are the mothers that keep a tally of information and a raft of professionals names on the tips of our tongues.
We are the mothers who’s children have not slept. And those who do are kept awake reading articles and researching and writing documents and filling out forms. And worrying.
We are the mothers who work so hard for every good experience their child has, wherever it might be. However small it may seem.
And yet
We are the mothers who are stared at, tutted at, passed judgement on.
We are the mothers who are treated badly at the school gates. Or within them.
We are the mothers who’s children, the ones we work so hard for, are not appreciated. Or included. Because they are not ‘good’.
We are the mothers of autistic children.
We’re dealing with more than you could ever believe.
Just to be the mothers we never imagined.