Moms, do you remember that first moment after birth—counting fingers and toes, hoping everything was “normal”? That feeling of wanting your child to be okay never really goes away.

When my son Miles was little, I subscribed to milestone emails, but I eventually stopped reading them because they were reminders that he wasn’t “keeping up”. Fear crept in—was it me? Did I miss something?

At 18 months, Miles only spoke a word or two. The pediatrician said to give it time, but by 20 months we were referred to early intervention. Calls went unanswered, and by 22 months we finally saw a specialist. In just 45 minutes, she noticed things I hadn’t—speech delay, lack of eye contact, and limited social interaction. Soon after, multiple evaluations confirmed what I had both feared and expected. He is autistic.

Reading “autism” and “severely delayed” in black and white next to my child’s name was crushing. As parents, David and I pour so much into Miles with activities, play, love. Yet we had to face the reality that regardless of what we did, our child's needs were different.

In October, Miles started ABA therapy 20 hours a week, plus speech therapy. The progress was almost immediate—more words, eye contact, play, and affection. His therapist’s dedication and their bond remind me that while the journey is different, it’s also filled with love, resilience, and hope.