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My son has always been an autistic child—his diagnosis changed my world, not his

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I'm an incessant daydreamer. It's easy to imagine perfect scenarios where I always say the right thing and my hair looks fantastic. My dreams allow me to right wrongs, find that pithy comeback and save the world on a regular basis. While pregnant with my son it was easy to slide him into those dreams. I would happily hand the world-saving reigns over to him, and naturally he would place one hand on my shoulder and say, in a voice ringing with sincerity: “I owe it all to my Mother." Then everyone would clap.

When I was asked if I wanted a boy or a girl I would say, “I just want a healthy child." Secretly I know I sort of wanted perfection. A child to be a perfect version of my partner and myself. A child with height (I am lacking), athletic ability (again, lacking), and a heart big enough to save the world—all wrapped up with a little bit of cheekiness (my contribution). My son is tall, he enjoys hurling himself off various things and saying “ta-da!" when he sticks the landing, he loves fiercely and quickly, and is generally understood to be the epitome of a troublemaker. He's also autistic, and therefore, according to general society, not a “healthy child."

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A strange thing happens when your child gets an autism diagnosis. The world around you restructures itself. Your relationships shift, goals relapse and realign. The people around you reveal themselves, for better or for worse. The only constant is this kid you're attempting to parent. He is the only one unaware of the seismic shift undertaken on his behalf.

He has always been an autistic child. There was never a moment when he was not autistic. Everything he sees in the world is viewed through that lens—everything he has eaten, loved, touched, watched and engaged with has been through the ability of his autistic brain.

And before the diagnosis, you never knew. Sure, there were issues. That's why you began asking questions. This wasn't the expected answer though. It seems you have always been raising a child on the autism spectrum. You just didn't know. Now you do know, and for some reason that changes everything.

His future, once bright, is now spoken about in soft voices laced with hesitation, no more gruff proclamations of, “Well he certainly knows what he wants! Har har har!" Now he is showing signs of obsession and it needs to be managed. He needs to be managed. He doesn't need play-dates, he needs social-skills therapy. You don't need a drink with friends, you need respite.

There is the tick-tick-tick of early-intervention time slipping away plus he needs a signed plan and he needs it yesterday. There is a cacophony of meetings, appointments, reports and sessions. Through all of this, your son lines things up, whispers words from beloved books over and over, and places his palm on your face when you cuddle him to sleep. Your life is no longer a solid rock—it is shifting sand and you don't know what to do, but you can hear him breathing in the dark and you love him. You love him.

I just want a healthy child.

The phrase I once thoughtlessly uttered came back to settle in the depths of my mind. Slinking around like a guilty shadow. He wasn't the child I imagined. Parents of autistic children are often told that the time of diagnosis is difficult.

We are told it's okay to grieve the life we've lost. It's okay to grieve the family we no longer have, or the future that's disappeared somewhere in the mire of health care paperwork. It is, essentially, acceptable to grieve the loss of a child while that child sits beside you making derogatory remarks about your knowledge of construction vehicles. Agencies handed out booklets stating grief was normal.

Yet, when I thought about it, I wasn't grief I was feeling. It was remorse and anger. I was never entitled to a child to complete my version of the perfect family. I was remorseful I'd ever placed that burden on him. I didn't bring a child into my life to heal my wounds or fulfill my various forgotten destinies. I am here for him.

I'm not entitled to him, but he is entitled to me. He is entitled to be loved and accepted, to have his fears and dreams acknowledged. To be a complete person in himself, secure in his worth and proud of his capabilities and talents. I was angry for what my child had lost. A boy filled with potential had regressed to various scorecards in filing systems tucked away in agencies.

Jim Sinclair, an autistic adult, said in a speech to parents of autistic children entitled Don't Mourn For Us that when parents say they grieve for their child, what the child hears is that the parents wish for a different child, a non-autistic child. Imagine the pain in that realization. Sinclair went on to say about understanding and loving an autistic child: “Approach respectfully, without preconceptions, and with openness to learning new things, and you'll find a world you could never have imagined."

My son never lost his potential when he was diagnosed. There was nothing taken. He is still a boy with a bright future. However, it's his future now, not the one I would inflict on him. There are many autistic adults who are happy and successful, who live fulfilling lives without reference to scorecards in filing cabinets. Yes, autism requires accommodations, but that doesn't make him any less a bundle of potential than any other 6 year old desperately trying to feed their broccoli to the cat.

When I was pregnant with my second potential troublemaker and I was asked what I wanted, I never said I wanted a healthy child. My “unhealthy" child was perfect, he deserved to be a part of the world and our love and acceptance of him was complete. I would instead, smile and say, “I just want a child."

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As a former beauty editor, I pride myself in housing the best skincare products in my bathroom. Walk in and you're sure to be greeted with purifying masks, micellar water, retinol ceramide capsules and Vitamin C serums. What can I say? Old habits die hard. But when I had my son, I was hesitant to use products on him. I wanted to keep his baby-soft skin for as long as possible, without tainting it with harsh chemicals.

Eventually, I acquiesced and began using leading brands on his sensitive skin. I immediately regretted it. His skin became dry and itchy and regardless of what I used on him, it never seemed to get better. I found myself asking, "Why don't beauty brands care about baby skin as much as they care about adult skin?"

When I had my daughter in May, I knew I had to take a different approach for her skin. Instead of using popular brands that are loaded with petroleum and parabens, I opted for cleaner products. These days I'm all about skincare that contains super-fruits (like pomegranate sterols, which are brimming with antioxidants) and sulfate-free cleansers that contain glycolipids that won't over-dry her skin. And, so far, Pipette gets it right.

What's in it

At first glance, the collection of shampoo, wipes, balm, oil and lotion looks like your typical baby line—I swear cute colors and a clean look gets me everytime—but there's one major difference: All products are environmentally friendly and cruelty-free, with ingredients derived from plants or nontoxic synthetic sources. Also, at the core of Pipette's formula is squalane, which is basically a powerhouse moisturizing ingredient that babies make in utero that helps protect their skin for the first few hours after birth. And, thanks to research, we know that squalane isn't an irritant, and is best for those with sensitive skin. Finally, a brand really considered my baby's dry skin.

Off the bat, I was most interested in the baby balm because let's be honest, can you ever have too much protection down there? After applying, I noticed it quickly absorbed into her delicate skin. No rash. No irritation. No annoyed baby. Mama was happy. It's also worth noting there wasn't any white residue left on her bottom that usually requires several wipes to remove.


Why it's different

I love that Pipette doesn't smell like an artificial baby—you, know that powdery, musky note that never actually smells like a newborn. It's fragrance free, which means I can continue to smell my daughter's natural scent that's seriously out of this world. I also enjoy that the products are lightweight, making her skin (and my fingers) feel super smooth and soft even hours after application.

The bottom line

Caring for a baby's sensitive skin isn't easy. There's so much to think about, but Pipette makes it easier for mamas who don't want to compromise on safety or sustainability. I'm obsessed, and I plan to start using the entire collection on my toddler as well. What can I say, old habits indeed die hard.

This article was sponsored by Pipette. Thank you for supporting the brands that support Motherly and mamas.

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Military families give up so much for their country, particularly when they have small children at home. Those of us who have never witnessed this kind of sacrifice first-hand could use a reminder of it once in a while, which is just one of the reasons we're so happy to see the beautiful photoshoot Mary Chevalier arranged for her husband's return home from Afghanistan.

The photoshoot was extra special because while James Chevalier was serving a nine-month deployment, Mary gave birth to their second son, Caspian.

Getting ready to meet Dad

"During the laboring and birthing process of Caspian, I was surrounded by family, but that did not fill the void of not having my husband by my side," Mary told InsideEdition.com. "He was able to video chat during the labor and birth, but for both of us, it was not enough."

While James had yet to meet Caspian, their 3-year-old son, Gage, missed his dad a whole lot, so this homecoming was going to be a big deal for him too. That's why Mary arranged for her wedding photographer, Brittany Watson, to be with them for their reunion in Atlanta.

Gage was so happy to see his Dad 

"[He] had no idea he was going to be getting to see his daddy that day," Watson wrote on Facebook. "The family met at the Southeastern Railway Museum for Gage to go on a special train ride... little did he know, he'd be doing it with daddy!"

Watson did a beautiful job capturing the high emotions of every single family member, from Gage's surprise, to the delight on baby Caspian's face. It's no wonder her Facebook post went viral last week.

"Caspian is natural, a very happy baby, but both James and I felt like Caspian knew who his father was almost immediately," Mary told Inside Edition. "He was easily comforted by me husband right off the bat and seemed to have an instant connection. It was very emotional."

The moment this dad had been waiting for 

If we're sobbing just looking at the photos, we can't even imagine what it was like in real life.

"We are all so blessed and take so much for granted," Watson wrote. "I cannot contain the joy I feel in my heart when I look at these images, and I hope you feel it too!"


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During both of my pregnancies, I was under the care of an amazing midwife. Every time I went to her office for check-ups, I was mesmerized by the wall of photos participating in what may be the most painfully magical moment of a woman's life: giving birth. But there was a painting that always drew my attention: a woman dressed in orange, holding her newborn baby with a face that could be described as clueless. The line above the canvas read, "Now what?"

I felt like the woman in the painting as I kissed my mother goodbye when my daughter was born. She came from my native Colombia to stay with us for three months. When she left, I realized that my husband had been working as usual during those first 90 days of our new life. My baby was born on a Friday and on Monday he was back at the office. (No parental leave policy for him.)

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Now what? I thought. The quote "It takes a village to raise a child" suddenly started to hit home, literally.

After a few years in Miami, I had some friends, but it truly didn't feel like I had a village. Some were not mothers yet, most of them worked full-time and others didn't live close by. My nomad life left my best friends spread out in different places in the world. I found myself signing up for "mommy and me" classes in search of new mothers, immigrants like me, alone like me.

It seemed like a utopian dream to think about when my grandmothers became mothers. Both of them had 6 and 10 children and they were able to stay sane (or maybe not? I don't know). But at least they had family around—people cooking, offering help. There was a sense of community.

My mother and father grew up in "the village." Big families with so many children that the older siblings ended up taking care of the little ones; aunts were like second mothers and neighbors became family.

When I was about to give birth to my second baby, my sister had just had her baby girl back in Colombia. Once, she called me crying because her maternity leave was almost over. My parents live close to her, so that was a bonus. Hiring a nanny back there is more affordable. But even seeing the positive aspects of it, I wished I could have been there for her, to be each other's village.

The younger me didn't realize that when I took a plane to leave my country in search of new experiences 19 years ago, I was giving up the chance to have my loved ones close by when I became a mother. And when I say close by, I mean as in no planes involved.

It hasn't been easy, but after two kids and plenty of mommy and me classes and random conversations that became true connections, I can say I have a mini-village, a small collection of solitudes coming together to lean on each other. But for some reason, it doesn't truly feel like one of those described in the old books where women gathered to knit while breastfeeding and all the children become like siblings.

Life gets in the way, and everyone gets sucked into their own worlds. In the absence of a true village, we feel the pressure to be and do everything that once was done by a group of people. We often lose perspective of priorities because we are taking care of everything at the same time. Starting to feel sick causes anxiety and even fear because it means so many things need to happen in order for mom—especially if single—to lay down and recover while the children are taken care of. And when the children get sick, that could mean losing money for a working mother or father, because the truth is that most corporations are not designed to nurture families.

In the absence of that model of a village I long for, we tend to rely on social media to have a sense of community and feel supported. We may feel that since we are capable of doing so much—working and stay at home moms equally—perhaps we don't need help. Or quite the opposite: mom guilt kicks in and feelings of not being enough torment our night sleep. Depression and anxiety can enter the picture and just thinking about the amount of energy and time that takes to create true connections, we may often curl up in our little cocoon with our children and partners—if they are present—when they come home.

Now what? was my thought this week while driving back and forth to the pediatrician with my sick son. I can't get the virus, I have to be strong, my daughter can't get ill, my husband needs to be healthy for his work trip next week, we all need to be well for my son's fifth birthday. And so, it goes on. I texted one of my mom friends just to rant. She rants back because her son is also sick. She sent me a heart and an "I'm here if you need to talk."

I am grateful to have talked to her at that random postpartum circle when I first became a mother. She's a Latina immigrant like me and feels exactly like me. I will do it more, get out of my comfort zone and have—sometimes—awkward conversations so I can keep growing my own little village.

It may not look like the one I'd imagined, but still may allow me to be vulnerable even through a text message.

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Halloween is around the corner, but if you are like me you are still trying to figure out what to dress your family (especially the little ones), so here are some cute ideas inspired by famous characters. There's something for everyone—from cartoon lovers to ideas for the entire family!

Here are some adorable character costumes for your family:

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