Science and Luck

TIME magazine ran an interesting article today about new research suggesting that autism can be detected in infancy. Perhaps more interesting is that the researchers think that if autism is identified early enough (say, by 18 months), parents can learn to interact with their kids in such a way that would "protect [them] from becoming fully autistic."

Now, I'm not a big fan of theories that place the responsibility for autism on the shoulders of the parents (I think moms feel too guilty as it is), but I am intrigued by this idea that the disorder can be curbed, to an extent, by a set of actions during toddlerhood. If that's true, I would think we'd want all parents interacting with their kids in this special way - better safe than sorry, right?

On a more personal level, what this research confirms for me is that we are truly lucky to have had twins. I think that Owen defies many of the common traits of autism because he's had a brother who does not have autism (I hesitate to call him neurotypical because he is, in all likelihood, a genius). Just having that bond with another person from birth has helped Owen learn to be aware of other people in a way that many autistic people struggle with. 

And while I'm not convinced that our parenting explains Owen's high level of functioning, I do think that having a twin who was on track with his development (or ahead, in some areas) did inadvertently cause us to hold Owen to those same expectations...and to notice the quirks in Owen and to work to help him "catch up" with his brother. (And yes, we did know that there was something just a little off about him before he had even turned one.)

I have often wondered what Owen would be like were he born an only child and I have to admit that I don't think he would be the same. 

I say all of this simply as a point of thought. I would never want to imply that anyone's parenting caused their child's autism, or caused it to be more severe. I don't believe that. 

I don't take credit for Owen's autism or his amazingness. He is who he is. 

But if it just so happens that the combination of having an exceptional twin, coupled with our complete naiveté of the possibility that he wouldn't be able to do anything his brother could do, has helped his brain overcome even one tiny speck of this disorder, then I guess we are even luckier than I knew. 

One More?

I dreamt I was pregnant again last night. It’s one of those dreams that pop up every now and then – usually when my husband lays his impossibly heavy arm across my stomach during the night.

As is usually the case, the dream pregnancy was a total shock and I therefore spent most of the dream counting how many beers and birth control pills I’d ingested in the preceding month…this is all laughable, of course, since it took us almost a year to get pregnant when we were actually trying.

Every mother, whether her child was born minutes or years ago, gets asked whether she’ll have more children. It’s a question that seems so innocent, but has come to seem intrusive to me…the way that it suggests that getting pregnant is such an easy task, that choosing to bring another person into the world is such a simple decision.

As anyone who has asked me the question in the last few years knows, my answer is a definitive “no.” However, I answer with such decisiveness out of practice more than some sense of knowing that our family is complete.

Before we had twins, we had always talked about having three kids (for the record, my husband was lobbying for seven). But after going through preterm labor, having tiny babies who spent their first three months of life in the hospital, surviving the exhaustion of raising two toddlers, and finding out that one of our precious boys has autism…well, two started to seem like a pretty good number. Not to mention that my husband has since declared us “done.”

If any medical professional could tell me that another pregnancy would even most likely result in another set of twins, end in preterm delivery, and/or produce another child with autism, I think I would feel more content with the decision not to have any more kids. I wouldn’t knowingly walk into any of those situations again.

But the doctors can’t really tell me anything definitively (including whether spending 3 ½ weeks on hospitalized bedrest actually made any difference). They just don’t know.

This all leaves me with lots of really good reasons not to have any more kids. And yet…I can’t help it, there’s a piece of me that still thinks about it. And it’s not that my boys aren’t enough, it’s just a feeling that there still might be room for one more. Maybe. Someday.

But then I think about the risks, about going back to sleepless nights, about potty training...and I feel sure again. “Nope, no more.” And so it stands. But if there’s one thing that becoming a mom has taught me, it’s never say never. And so I won't...just "probably not."