The Po Show

Good, Good Eleven

Anyone else remember the Schoolhouse Rock song ("Good, good, good, good eleven. Never gave me any trouble till after nine...")?

My sweet baby boy (the one who is over five feet tall and has feet bigger than my own) is eleven years old today. Yesterday we were driving through the valley, past the hospital where Matthew finally emerged into the world. It was 11AM, and I said to Ross, "Well, 11 years ago we were there. And it won't be till 5:00 tomorrow evening that he was born."

Obviously he has been challenging from the beginning (before the beginning, really, as it took four years to conceive my miracle baby), all through no fault of his own. Things just don't come easy for or with this brilliant, funny, tempestuous child. He seems both much older and much younger than eleven, depending on the moment. He giggles and chatters like a five year old (and tantrums like one too), but he also discusses astrophysics and computer components like he's researching a dissertation.

One thing that's happened since he went off his meds is that he's started to talk, a lot. It's a little manic, and that's been a bit worrisome, but it's incredibly interesting to hear him talk at great length about his current passions (astrophysics and computer components, as well as Greek mythology :)). It's like he can't *wait* to tell you about it all, like the words can't tumble out of his mouth fast enough to suit him, in incredible detail. People are flabbergasted that he remembers so much; they tell me, "He is *so* freaking smart!"

He is my child prodigy, the baby who lifted his head when he was two days old, who said "Mama" at five months, who ran as soon as he could walk at nine months, who memorized the entire walkthrough of Donkey Kong when he was five years old (despite the fact that he couldn't read), who overcame a severe processing disorder and somehow learned to read. And now can't stop reading, when he's so into a book that he can't put it down. Earlier this week, he read a 312 page novel in less than a day.

He still kisses me, hugs me, loves me and appreciates me. It's stunning to me that he really and truly empathizes with me, his Mom, in a way that is so very difficult for Aspies. He is my sunshine, and he makes my heart lift higher than the stars.

Here's to a good year, the year of eleven.