This Is Us

Chapter 4

  "What do you mean, autistic?"

The words caught me off guard, even though I've had almost two weeks to come to terms with the idea of Walker being different. But, since Ian had been out of town since the morning of his doctor's appointment, we hadn't spoken about it.

The pediatrician gave me a name and number to call for specific testing. When I called they said they could see us in six months. I scheduled the appointment, calling our own pediatrician back to let their office know of the date. Within thirty minutes the child psychologist called me back saying he could see us in just two days.

That alone should've told me how serious the situation was, but I was still holding out hope.

The testing took a full couple of hours, even though the psychologist told me that he could barely do any of the activities. Part of the reason for the extended length was due to the amount of breaks they'd had to take due to frustration or outbursts from Walker. She told me that I would receive a professional letter with the results, but a look in her eye told me silently what I'd begun to fear since the pediatrician first used the word.

The internet was not my friend. In fact, I'm pretty sure it caused me to lose more sleep than necessary as I fell down the massive rabbit hole of an autism journey. 

I hadn't spoken a word or even a possibility of the situation to anyone, until now.

Ian had come home just before I tucked Walker into bed. He'd wanted his son to run to him and jump into his arms, but instead he looked up at him from his spot on the carpet with his line of hot wheels and then went right back to creating a long line with each car meeting front to back.  "What a warm welcome," he said coldly before kissing my cheek. 

  "He's just focused," I admitted and went to finish fixing his dinner plate. 

  I'd put Walker to bed, and was now sitting across from Ian at our small kitchen table, giving him the news. I slid the confirmation letter with test results across the table towards him. He'd stopped shoveling the food in his mouth for all of a half second to question me with, "What do you mean, autistic?"

  "Just what that paper says. He has autism."

  "Damn it, AnnaBelle! Why did you go and have the kid labeled for? Don't you  know that's going to follow him everywhere now? No one in school is going to give him the time of day!"

  I bite back the snap that's urging me to let all my words fly at one time, much like what Ian just did towards me. But, instead I swallow. "A label will help him get the help he needs," I say calmly.

  "You've branded him! He'll never be treated normal now. All you needed to do was give him time! He's a kid, Annie!" His chair screeches back against the linoleum as he abruptly stands, tossing the plate into the sink so hard that it breaks into five different large pieces. 

  I don't want to meet Ian's level of anger, but my own temper is gradually rising. "He's a two year old that's performing as a ten month old," I inform him. 

  "Well, if you'd teach him more things and stop coddling him he'd probably be more like a four year old!" he yells towards me as he leans his back against the counter top, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has on the edge. 

  My resolve breaks as my anger flares. "Last I checked, parenting in a marriage is a partnership!" my voices rises by the time I say the last word. "When was the last time you gave him an ounce of your time or energy?"

  "I run a construction company, Annie! When I leave, he's in a mood because of you. When I come home, he ignores me!"

  "You barely try, Ian! If he's focused on something, why can't you meet him where he's at? Tonight, you could've walked over to him and sat down for even a half a second and asked him about his day," I snap.

  "What for? To hear him grunt, or babble like a baby? He's two and still sounds like a freaking infant!" He moves away from the counter, getting closer to my face, "And that's on you," he points at me.

  "The hell it is!" I yell louder than I've ever yelled in my life. 

  A sharp, piercing cry comes from Walker's room. "See? You're even the cause of why he can't sleep during the night. One sound of your voice and he's crying!"

  I ignore the incessant nagging and belittling coming from my husband, making my way through the tiny home to Walker's room. My sweet boy is sitting up in his crib, tears streaking his red cheeks. In one scoop he's in my arms and his shaking body begins to calm quickly. "Mama's sorry, baby," I whisper over his ear as I step out into the hall.

  "Coddling," Ian simply states from the doorway of our bedroom.

  "He may have had a nightmare. I'm not going to just leave him to scream and cry in his bed."

  "He's never going to be anything if you go and save him from everything."

  "Save him? He was crying in his bed! I'm giving him reassurance that I'm still, we're still here with him," I correct myself as I go to sit in the rocking glider that's been in our living room since he was a newborn. 

  "Ya know, my mom mentioned something to me and no, it's really got me thinking," Ian says quietly, making me lift my eyes to him rather than the little boy whose eyes are getting heavier as his body begins to relax. 

  "What do you mean?" I whisper, waiting for him to expound on his statement. 

  "No kid of mine, would behave like Walker. He'd be talking up a storm, catching a football, giving affection to all of his family members. Which means one of two things. Either he's not mine, or you've broken him."

*Unedited