Tomorrow, or today in a few hours, we have an appointment with the new pediatric neurologist. I’m so nervous. I can’t sleep. The last time we saw a neurologist for our monkey it was heartbreaking.

I don’t think much will be accomplished in this meeting. I mean, how much more can one do? But we feel it will be nice to have him in our team. It will be nice to have our pediatrician be able to consult with him.

Maybe he can help us with suggestions on his anxiety? Or on his restlessness when he is sleeping?

But I won’t let the past repeat itself. I won’t let him define my monkey (like the last one did) by telling me all the things that he will never do.  Just because he has a degree on his wall doesn’t mean he knows who my monkey is.

We know who my monkey is. That won’t change.

My monkey is the little guy that drops everything if he thinks his mama is sad. He runs to comfort me with his kisses.

He runs to his sister for comfort when I’m scolding him. And when the four of us are about to leave and go home,  he will grab his big sister’ hand and make sure she leaves with us.  He knows she completes us and he is going to make sure she is not staying behind.

He begs for his daddy to help him with extreme jumping on his therapy ball. He needs his daddy’s bear hugs when he is anxious.  His daddy is the only one that he trusts to brush his teeth.

His joy is to nestle in bed between his parents before bed.  And if we tickle him, his laughter fills our home with happiness.

This appointment,  I’m going in with not a lot of expectations but a little bit of hope.

Hope that he sees my son as a little boy that completes our home.

And he happens to have autism.