“When something is wrong with my baaaaay-beh….”

I was the girl in antenatal classes where the other couples mentally guessed how young I was. When it came around to ‘tell the class a little about yourself’ I said, “I got pregnant on purpose and I’m 21 not 13.” The mid wife smiled politely and moved on to the next couple.

Ronan was born 3 weeks premature. He had such a loud voice for a skinny little frame, the nurses nicknamed him Conan the Laundry Warrior. He was the Laundry Warrior because my sister, Aunty S, brought our things for hospital in a laundry basket.

I should have known then we were never going to ‘be normal’.

My Spidey Senses told me something was different about Ronan when he was 6 months old. I started taking him to doctors. Once again I became the 13 yr old with the baby.

Me: “There’s something wrong with my baby.”
Doc: “Hmmm he’s a bit skinny. He was born premature you say? He’ll catch up eventually. There’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes young mothers get overwhelmed with their first born. Please sign here and have a nice life.”

Eventually I stopped searching for reasons why my baby didn’t walk, or talk, or look me in the eyes. It wasn’t until after I had Hayden, my second child, that the differences became apparent. It confirmed something I knew was true – that Ronan was different.

I stormed into the doctors clinic, armed with the kids, and demanded a referral letter. I plopped Ronan on her desk. He had just soiled himself. She screwed up her face and her hands itched to cover her nose. Hayden, strapped in the stroller, screamed out of boredom. Without asking further questions she immediately typed out a short letter and handed it to me. Before leaving, I briefly wondered if people really did turn blue in the face from holding their breath.

Sigh!

Blood tests revealed Ronan had a ‘chromosomal abnormality’. It was official, the medical certificate proved we were not normal. It would be a few more years before I learnt the word ‘Autism’.

And it would be more years before I stopped singing the blues and learned that there’s nothing wrong with my baby.

In the Beginning

In the Beginning I had a little baby boy who wouldn’t speak and look me in the eyes. He was always a little ‘strange’.

And when I called to him, “Ronan!”

He would run away from me, laughing, as I raced after him, my heart pounding in my ears, running to catch my little rabbit before he ran

– across the busy road;

– into the car park;

– through the wrong door;

– into the midst of the crowd;

– over the Look Out cliff edge.

This little boy grew up. He speaks now and looks me in the eyes – sometimes. He remains always a little ‘strange’. But he knows he is Ronan and he comes to me when I call him, with his arms open to embrace me, telling me he misses me.