As a hunting, pro-gun family I have one very important thing in common with my anti-gun friends, and that is that we BOTH want to keep guns out of the hands of our kids. I remember the first time I awkwardly had "the talk" with a fellow mom. My husband had been in the garage reloading ammo and the neighbor boy was intently watching and asking questions and then said: "I'm going to tell my dad he needs to learn to do this." My heart sunk as I realized if this kid just ran home and told his parents that the neighbor was playing with bullets in his garage, it could definitely be blown-up and misunderstood. So I text his mom, and in true Brandy-style, I word vomited more than needed to be said. "Hey. We definitely weren't playing with guns around your kid. My husband is just reloading ammo. All our guns are under lock and key, but because guns were being talked about, we also told your son that he is never allowed to touch any in our house if for some
The pause. It's a period of time every parent facing a diagnosis for their child finds themselves in. The pause is this purgatory of denial, and research, and blame. You wonder if this is real or if you're misinterpreting symptoms. You wonder if you caused this, somehow. You wonder what this would mean for their future. You wonder if the answers might be even worse than the questions. You pause. For me, the pause started pre-diagnosis when I had to check an entire row of "not yet" boxes on a developmental questionnaire. I wore my insecurities and fear like weights tied around my ankles, and I drug my feet through the long process of seeking help. Seeking help, then turned into seeking an official diagnosis, and that added yet another weight to my body; The weight of other people's opinions about autism. Some people built me up and commended my efforts. But some, even to this day, don't believe this is a real thing and that I was just looking for an e