Jelly was six weeks old when we got Moe's diagnosis. I marvel at the timing. If Moe had been diagnosed before I was pregnant, I don't think we would have had another child. Not just because we might have been afraid to have another child with autism, but because I would have felt that he needed all of me. And he does. He needs all of me.
But I need Jelly. I need her dress-up clothes and pretend play and her early morning stories floating down the hall to wake me. I need her giggles and sass, her funny phrases and "will you play with me?"
I need her amazing command of language, and love of preschool, and though I could do without her refusal to use the potty, I need the way she says "underpants."
I am amazed every day by this little girl who can write - and type - her name, who knows the zip code to our house (and to Umi City), and who is as stubborn as me. I need the way she chases Moe down the hall, and watches TV with intensity and for some reason knows all the words to Madonna's "Hung Up."
Tomorrow, I will write about how we celebrated her birthday. For today, I give you this:
