'Scared' doesn't even come close to describing how we felt, finding out we were pregnant with you. Almost five years on from your arrival, a diagnosis and all the other things in between... I can't believe we were even slightly apprehensive.
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Look at you. Just look.
We didn't know before you came along, but you were - are - the final piece of our family puzzle. You perfectly complement every member of this mad house and you bring unbelievable joy every single day. Our world without your presence is just unimaginable.
My pregnancy was a shock though. And even when I adjusted to the idea of a third child, the 'what ifs' were pretty consuming for both me and Dad. Add in the well-meant (but undeniably hard to swallow) concerns of family, a host of medical problems during pregnancy, a panicky and tense early delivery... it was a rough seven months.
Then you arrived, your Dad held you right away - the first one he braved cutting the cord for - and I literally saw that love spread across his face, just as it had with your brothers. When they met you and you fit right into our family, when everyone saw you, the worries evaporated.
When it was just you and I in the hospital for a few days I was mesmerised with this tiny, fair, blue-eyed boy. Your brothers had been so dark and chunky, this picture was so different to what I imagined. And though I was consumed with happiness, I knew you were the last one. I knew our family was whole.
Back home the washing machine had a shock with an extra load or three a week, but otherwise we slipped into being a family of five quite easily.
C was very accepting of you, even with the noise and the smelly nappies.
D adored everything about you. You made him a big brother - a role he's relished since.
Honestly, I was grateful D had been blessed with a best friend... a sibling he could grow with as siblings close in age do. I was hopeful that you would be there for each other when C was so demanding of both mine and Dad's time that things at home could be hard.
Two years in, when the A-word was suggested again, I was gobsmacked. Sure, I knew there was a language delay and you were extremely active, but nothing else seemed to fit to me. Until you started nursery. It became much clearer, much more quickly, and soon we were on a very familiar path.
For a while I felt like we'd been cheated. When D cried because we said you were going to be going to a different school, where you could get the therapy you needed, my heart broke a little. He wanted his baby brother with him. He loved showing you off to his friends. Kids don't see difference at that young age, but they feel separation and injustice. That's what autism meant to him in that moment, and in all honesty it did to me too. For a minute I questioned whether to just dive into mainstream and try it... but my head knew what was best for you, right now.
Sure enough, when you continued to share a special bond, when you still managed to play the best games, and when the speech came in tsunami sized waves and you could communicate with him... it was all forgotten. You were still the perfect little brother and best friend.
When you started bonding properly with C around the age of four - an intuitive kind of relationship - I understood your diagnosis for what it really is: a gift to your oldest brother. He's never gotten angry with you, you're the only child he's ever had patience with in his entire life and only a week ago he told me "2015 was the best year" - why? - "Because that's when we got H."
I've never felt anything like how I felt in that moment. C doesn't express things like that... You brought that out in him. Just by existing!
We are five entirely different people, each with qualities that we need in one another. Especially you three siblings - you bring out the best in each other. Fact.
We were happy before. We were bonded and close and we had things under control. We were in a pleasant status quo. Oblivious to anything being missing from our lives. But someone, or something, knew we needed you and we could handle a little more chaos.
Your arrival, your presence every day and your autism-inspired qualities brought everything together. You, Bobo, are the glue.
To think I was ever scared...