We say Asperger's like Ass Burgers cause we funny

We were both such babies.

So the Princess was an accident  unexpected miracle.  I was 18, Big Munky was 23.  His parents already disapproved of me because I didn't go to their church and had my tongue pierced.  When we sat them down to tell them we were also having pre-marital nookie, I expected a lot more than, "So. . .what are we supposed to tell our friends?"

So, the pregnancy went by without any major problems.  She was breech, and we were told we had no choice but to have a cesa ceasar cessar. . . hmm. . . to have me gutted like a fish and pull her out.  She was a bit jaundiced, and tiny, but otherwise awesome.

She was a quiet baby, observant from the start.  No problems with colic or any major health crap.

Fast forward a few years.  She was 2 when I noticed her being "different," but it wasn't until she was almost 5 that I realized something was def off.  She was smart, very smart, when it came to labeling and identifying objects and people.  She knew letters, numbers, colors, shapes. . .she could read without memorization at 3.  But try to ask her what she had for lunch, and she was lost.  Ask  any "wh--" question and she would immediately go off on a tangent about something she knew, instead of trying to answer what she didn't.

She thought a Care Bear Stare would get her out of trouble on several occasions.

And her behavior. . .wow.  She would throw the most hellacious fits imaginable.  Over anything.  Throw down and scream and cry and wail for hours, because she didn't like the kind of juice you gave her.  She couldn't figure out to ask for a different kind, or to express her dislike by doing anything but screaming.

And though she could read anything you put in front of her, she couldn't answer a single question about it.

She was cool as hell, though.

When she entered kindergarten, the teacher called me almost daily to say she was having another fit, that she was starting fights with the other kids, that she was screaming at everyone.  I tried to tell the lady that after 3 weeks of tracing straight lines every friggin day would drive any kid to violence.  Then the idiot guidance counselor called me to say, "We're going to have a meeting to figure out what's going on at home to make your child act this way."

Excuse me, asshat?  I've been telling you folks for weeks now that the child is emotional, is too damn smart to be expected to sit at a table and trace all. day. long, that you need to challenge her or she will find a way to break the monotony and boredom.  "What's going on at home."  Pffft.

Allow me to clarify something here:  the kindergarten teacher is not at fault for anything.  She was very sweet and very much loved by the Princess.  She was just unsure of what to do with this kind of kid.

THIS is what goes on at home, dude.

Good thing I worked in the special ed department with the same school board, and good thing the SpEd supervisor just happened to be my brother's MIL, who's known us damn near forever.  I spoke with her about what the jackass said, she got visibly upset, and called the Princess' school's Special Pops coordinator.      

I went in to the meeting.  The counselor sat down for about 5 minutes with the teacher, the coordinator and I, and when he realized he had yet to be acknowledged or allowed to speak his idiotic mind, he left.  Didn't excuse himself either.  Rudeness.

I finally got through to them about the Princess, and it was decided that, since she was bright but socially a tard, she would stay in kindergarten for social skills, but would go into a first grade class for academics.  Awesome.  Except that on the first day, she was allowed to go to the new classroom by herself.

Yeah.  She didn't come back.  They found her in a bathroom, playing in the sink.  Hellllllo.

So, for years I'd been saying the child is "off," that she's. . .different. . .but everyone just kept telling me it was because of her intelligence.  Family, friends, doctors, professionals. . .everyone.

Enter Heather Crowson, the first grade teacher who took her in, that year and the next.  I sat down for a meeting with Heather soon after the Princess started her class.  Heather said, "I'm not sure how to bring this up, I never know who it will offend, but I do want to ask . . ."

I took over for her.  "You think she's autistic."

She sighed.  "Yes.  Do you?"

FINALLY!  SOMEONE ELSE SAW IT TOO!!!!  The relief I felt was unimaginable.  Most parents deny their children's diagnosis, they refuse to admit that there's anything "wrong."  I guess that's the "bright" side of being a pessimist.  I knew something was "wrong," and I wanted to know what it was, so that maybe I could fix it.

So, with Heather's help and support, we began the 2 year journey into testing, meetings, entry into the gifted program, and, finally, a diagnosis.  For 2 years now Princess has been an "official" aspie, and we're still struggling to "fix" what we can.  Her fits and tantrums in public have decreased, and she's actually made a few friends at school (so freakin awesome).  We've seen a neurologist, had more tests run, attempted to medicate. . .and got a diagnosis of Tourette's and ADHD thrown into the mix.  More fun at the munky house.

Though she's doing much better, and we as her parents are doing better now that we realize she has an excuse and isn't just a bad-ass kid, it's still tough.  The family doesn't get this "autism" deal.  They more or less ignore the whole thing.  And she still has horrendous screaming willies every single freakin day.  Everything at home is a struggle because it disrupts what she wants to do, what she's planned out in her own head.  BUT, we're getting by.

It helps that we get awesomely awesome teachers every year.

I fully take any advice, and will answer any questions that I'm able to.  I like to hear other families' stories.  Don't get offended that I make light of things, it's how I cope, dammit.