It was a fantastic day in February, not long after Amie's 3rd birthday, when we got the 'official' news that she was not autistic. The official/non-official "diagnosis" is "Rule Out PDD". In two years, Santa Barbara's Tri County Regional Center has recommended that we have her re-tested. Until then, her problems are deemed not severe enough to warrant state assistance.
So, ok ok I know I'm supposed to be happy about this...and I am. But I find myself obsessively wanting a "real" diagnosis. Something tangible that we can attack with full force. It's like we've come to the end of this marathon of testing and worrying and planning only to be told to wait for 2 years to run it again and then maybe they'll tell us our time.
This points to the larger issue at hand which is less about Amie and more about me. The thing is, no matter what she "has"- she is Amie and we will do the best we can for her because we love her. And we will teach her, using whatever methods we can employ, how to take care of her little self in this big big world.
We have hired Julie Diangeles, a fabulous speech teacher, and we continue to learn every day from Donna at Child's Play. We are still on the diet and it's getting easier. At this point it feels like we are all working as a team. Amelie is carrying her own weight, and she not only acknowledges it, but is very very proud of it.
Yesterday, she was fumbling with the buckles on her shoe. I reached down as I've done so many times in the past to help and, instead of the usual screaming and outrage, she just shooed my hand away and said, "This time, it's my turn."
Baby steps...literally.
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