13

My first baby is 13 now. All sharp edges, unruly thick dark hair, an ever-deepening voice. There is no hiding his autism from the world, not that I feel the need to do so. Even the regulars on our bus line, disheveled addicts and the mentally unstable who regularly pick fights with invisible bus passengers, take note of Noé and ask me if he has autism.

Between the autism and the teenagerism, he can be stubborn and difficult. He communicates well with his iPad, but on his own terms. It still takes a lot of energy and reinforcement (think skittles) for him to be cajoled into learning new things. We have to set a timer on his music, otherwise he will listen all-day and non-stop to his record and iPad music collections.  His OCD tendencies have increased in the past year. He spends his free time shutting or opening doors, and obsessively touching the points of objects and surfaces.

But we have these moments.  His eyes will catch mine. Often it is a quick flicker of happiness or engagement, a flame that I have to reach out and hold before it disappears. I try to be on the constant lookout for these moments, lest I miss an opportunity to be with him.  In these moments he is engaged and eager for interaction. We will talk and I know he is listening. We play simple games, we tickle, we dance together to his music.  He will let me hug him without pushing away.

Blessed moments with my first baby.