I used to be jealous of those “soccer moms” running their children back and forth to games and practices. I used to get mad as hell when I’d hear them complain about a soccer tournament taking up their entire weekend. I used to smile but then cry behind closed doors when I watched their children play. I used to turn green with envy that they had children so able and willing to play, and then shed secret guilt-filled tears because I wished my child was like theirs.
But not anymore.
It’s taken me three years since my son’s autism diagnosis to realize that I am a “soccer mom” too, my child just doesn’t play soccer.