This child of mine,
Who does not speak except occasionally when she wishes,
And even then, her speech is basic or unclear,
Babble interspersed with occasional bursts of clarity,
She is non-verbal or pre-verbal or somewhere in-between.

This child of mine,
She is autistic and yet she is so much more,
She adores princesses and dresses, colour and laughter, and chocolate cake,
Family celebrations mean the world to her,
Although she gets overwhelmed and hides under the table.

This child of mine,
So full of energy, excitement, frantic frustration, and fiercely loyal love!
Running, climbing, splashing, and chasing the birds even into danger,
She is resolutely determined about her plans,
Which can be a good thing but also at times risky,
She sees only one way.

This child of mine,
Who adores music and loves to dance,
How is it possible that she can sing much more than she can speak?
Her melodies mostly pitch-perfect, although the words are blurred,
Decipherable only to those who know her well.
I think she will be a musician.

This child of mine,
I wonder, does she think in words that she can’t express?
Or does she just choose not to say them?
Does she see the world, her desires, needs, and dreams as pictures?
We have pictures for everything in our house,
Stuck to Velcro strips on the dining room wall,
Our picture exchange communication system.

This child of mine,
Fruit of my womb whom I have fed and cared for all the days of her life,
Watching and waiting for her delayed milestones,
I know her so well, and yet in many ways she is still a mystery to me,
Locked inside her mind,
Struggling to make sense of all that puzzles and overwhelms her.

This child of mine,
She is beginning to break open those locks,
I dare to hope and dream,
I prepare myself for disappointment,
Will she ever say mum?

Originally written by Jennifer Johnson, October 2023