"My support group told me to go to hell"

ISO: a support group for mothers of children with diagnosed pervasive developmental disorder (PDD), with a potential secondary diagnosis of apraxia of speech.

Confused yet? So am I.

Colin has just turned three years old, and we are now waaaaaaaaaay past the platitudes stage ("Oh, don't worry, he'll talk when he's ready!" or "Einstein didn't talk until he was four") and are now onto "So why didn't you get help for this kid sooner?"

(/banging head against wall in frustration)

I am actually considering writing a book (ha! I'm always considering writing a book) about Colin's experiences in his world of no communication. I don't want to say "world of autism," because his latest speech therapist doesn't believe that the PDD diagnosis is 100% accurate. It is so hard to know what to call this.

How about "Misunderstood Child Syndrome"?
Or HDSS ("He Don't Say Shit")?

I love Colin so much. My heart has broken a hundred times for him. It especially breaks when he sees other children and smiles this huge smile but just stands on the outskirts, silently hoping they'll ask him to join them, because he can't speak, so he can't ask.

My heart breaks when bitches at WalMart and assholes on the street (moms and dads of "regular" children, respectively) make sideways comments to the effect of "Lady, why don't you make your child behave?" Because you see, my child not only looks "normal"...he looks beautiful. And IS beautiful. Inside and out.

Just look at that face.

It works against him--because there is no outward sign that anything is amiss. So people just assume that he's spoiled, I'm terrible and we should both be sequestered in a quiet back room somewhere rather than out in public.

But he's not bad, and I'm not an idiot with no parenting skills. Or, well...he's not bad; let's just leave the sentence at that...

Which is why it is so inappropriate and so cruel that lately, I am resenting him. I am resenting the fact that after three years of nonstop attempts to get through to him, of holding and cherishing him, of taking him to classes and therapies, sticking up for him, protecting him...I still have never heard him call me "Mama".

Resentful that I have a seven-week-old and a three-year-old in the house and sometimes I can't tell which of them it is that's wailing that high-pitched, infant's wordless wail.

Resentful that I still see no light at the end of this extremely long tunnel.

Get me to a support group. Quickly!

Do they have one for Moms Who Are Wacked But Mean Well?

Sign me up. Quickly.