Life is a roller coaster. I don't like roller coasters.

We met with the ASD specialist in Sacramento so we could learn what we already knew. J. now has an "official" diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome, and I have a little more insight into my own mind.

J. knew why we were going to Sacramento, but in true fashion he refused to get out of the van once we parked. Once we assured him that he could take his backpack in all was well. The meeting felt like a job interview in bizarro world. The two youngest, prettiest psychiatrist in the world sat us down with very serious looks on their faces. I expected them to ask at any moment, "So, why would you like your son to have Asperger's, what do you think he would bring to the diagnosis?" I immediately began wondering why I felt that way. It was because I was afraid they were going to take my diagnosis away. Before last October when we saw the first round of experts we were just a weird family, with a weird kid and I was a horrible mom. After Asperger's was identified we were a family dealing with Autism Spectrum Disorder. It had become our identity. Asperger's explained everything.

I was terrified I would have to go back to being the terrible mother with the tantruming child she couldn't or wouldn't control. It was all about me.

My husband Justin and I were asked questions, given forms to fill out, and lead into a room in which we could watch J. being evaluated through a one way mirror. Every parent should get to watch their child this way. He knew we were watching and kept waving at us, but eventually the novelty wore off and he got to his task of turning every conversation back to Transformers/Star Wars/Legos. He can turn the conversation without blinking, as if he never left it, because he never has. While you were talking about travel or family dynamic he was internally dialoging about his topic, politely waiting for his turn to talk. He then talks about his interest as if that is what the conversation is about. When his portion was done we took a break so the doctors could tally the score. We were convinced he won, not that it was a competition. He left the room glowing as if he had won a victory. He enjoyed his evaluation

as much as he enjoyed Disneyland.

I was nervous. I had seen his performance, his usual Aspie flavored self. We of course got what we had come for. Our "official diagnosis". And our folder of "resources". That folder answered the other question I had for myself. Why had I waited 9 months for the official diagnosis? That folder held page after page of resources that I knew I would have to fight for. I wasn't ready for that fight 9 months ago. Perhaps no one wants to face an uphill battle. Like it or not it is time to start climbing.

Here we go.