Before Jonathan, I was already a mom of two. Life was full, busy and meaningful– but everything changed when my husband came into the picture.
He arrived at exactly the right time in my life, with a kind love and steadiness I didn’t know I needed. He didn’t just fit into my world… he became one of the best and most beautiful parts of it.
We built a life together, slowly and intentionally, and after years we decided to try for another baby. Jonathan was so deeply hoped for– but getting pregnant wasn’t easy. We struggled, we waited, we hoped, and we prayed.
Eventually, in a quiet and miraculous way, Jonathan happened. He was our unexpected blessing, our long-awaited gift.
When Our Journey Shifted
Pregnancy with Jonathan was not easy.
In fact, it was one of the hardest periods of my life–mentally, physically, and emotionally.
I developed hyperemesis gravidarum, the kind of relentless nausea and vomiting that take over your whole world. Eating was hard. Drinking was hard. Some days even standing was impossible. But I pushed through every miserable day because I knew who I was fighting for.
As the pregnancy continued, more complications followed.
I developed hypertension, which added constant monitoring, fear, and strict precautions. Then came gestational diabetes, another layer of appointments, diet change, blood sugar checks, insulin, and worry.
Nothing about carrying Jonathan was simple.
Nothing about it was smooth.
But every challenge made his arrival feel even more miraculous – a reminder that he was meant to be here, no matter how hard the road was.
And then on Valentine’s Day, he arrived– a day centered around love, which felt more than fitting for the little boy who had already changed our lives so deeply. The moment he was born, every struggle felt worth it.
In those first moments of holding him, I thought the hardest battles were behind us. But motherhood has a way of revealing things slowly – gently at first, then all at once.
When We Started to Notice
Jonathan was sweet, loving, and full of personality, but there were moments that made me pause. Small things. Subtle things. (Those details will be in my next post.)
But the moment that stayed with me the most was during a trip to California for my niece’s graduation and confirmation sacrament, which we were a part of. He cried almost the entire time – nothing soothed him. Not being held, not rocked, not fed, not distracted. That was when I felt in my heart: something deeper is happening.
The Day of the Diagnosis
By the time we reached the point of seeking a diagnosis, I was the one who began the process.
I had been researching, taking online assessments, calling clinics, and looking for places that specialized early autism evaluations. Something in me knew we needed answers – and I wasn’t willing to wait for someone else to tell me when it was time. I trusted my instincts, even when it felt scary. This was not the first time I had to go on instinct, and I am sure it will not be my last.
When we walked into the evaluation room, it wasn’t what people imagined. There were no harsh tests or long question sessions. It was mostly play.
The psychologist observed Jonathan gently and intentionally – watching how he explored toys, responded to sounds, interacted with us, reacted when things changed, and communicated in his own unique way.
There were bubbles, blocks, puzzles, tiny cars… All simple things, but each chosen with a purpose.
As I watched, I saw the behaviors I had been noticing at home reflected clearly:
his difficulty with shared play,
his distress with unexpected changes,
his moments of overwhelm,
his need for sameness,
his quiet world inside a busy room.
Seeing it all there… it didn’t make me sad.
It made me feel seen – and it made him feel seen.
So when the psychologist gently shared the results – Autism Spectrum Disorder
– I wasn’t shocked.
My heart already knew.
Jonathan was only 20 months old – just a baby – and yet we finally had answers that many families wait years to receive.
What I felt was relief. My tears were relief.
A release from confusion, doubt, and months of trying to connect dots I couldn’t name.
For peace of mind, we met with a second psychologist.
The diagnosis was the same.
Both professionals told me something I will never forget:
“Most parents don’t recognize signs this early.
You’re doing an amazing job.”
At first, it felt validating. But as I let their words settle, a wave of sadness came over me.
Sad that so many parents don’t have the education, support, or resources to recognize early signs.
Sad that some families may be struggling alone, feeling confused, or blaming themselves.
Sad that children might be waiting longer for the help they deserve simply because no one ever taught their parents what to look for.
And the truth is, parents do try.
They fill out developmental questionnaires at well-child appointments.
They bring up concerns.
They ask questions.
But too often they’re told.
“It’s just a phase.”
“He’ll grow out of it.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
That “wait and see” can become months… even years – years that matter.
And even when a parent finally hears, “You should get more information,” the system doesn’t make it easy.
They’re met with waiting lists – long, discouraging waiting lists – for evaluations, therapies, specialists, and support.
Parents are ready to help their child, but the system makes them wait – all while insisting that early intervention is key.
I found myself wondering:
Why was I able to see it so early when others can’t?
How many parents are being reassured instead of supported?
How many are stuck on waiting lists, losing valuable time?
How many children are being unintentionally forgotten because someone told their family to wait?
It broke my heart to think about families trying their very best in the dark – not because they don’t care, but because no one ever turned the light on for them.
What the Diagnosis Brought Us
A diagnosis doesn’t change your child – it explains them.
It gives clarity.
It gives direction.
It gives you a path forward.
And through every appointment, every tear, every breakthrough, my husband has been my anchor.
He shows up for Jonathan with a kind of love that humbles me.
He shows up for our family without hesitation.
He is everything I need but never knew how to ask.
And I couldn’t do any of this without Mia and Liam.
Mia is like a second little mama – always watching, always aware, always ready to step in the moment she sees I need help. She pays attention in ways far beyond her years, and her gentle presence brings Jonathan a sense of comfort that only siblings can give.
Liam is Jonathan’s playmate, his teammate, his buddy. Jonathan will take him by the hand and lead him into his world – usually to play sports, chase a ball, or start a silly game only the two of them understand. Liam meets him right where he is, without question or hesitation.
They each love him differently, but beautifully.
And the truth is, I wouldn’t make it without the family I have.
Jonathan was born into the exact home he needed – surrounded by people who adore him, celebrate him, and stand with him every step of the way.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’m sharing this for any parent who feels overwhelmed, unsure, or afraid to trust their instincts.
You’re not imagining things.
You’re not overreacting.
You’re not alone.
And your child is still perfect – exactly as they are.
Please don’t wait.
Don’t let anyone tell you to “wait and see,” or “give it time,” or “he’ll grow out of it.”
Push. Call. Ask questions. Research. Trust the quiet feeling in your chest that tells you something more is happening. You know your child better than anyone.
But in all of that advocating, remember you matter too.
Your mental health matters.
Your rest (as much as possible) matters.
Your emotions deserve space.
Take the time you need. Breathe. Cry. Process.
You can fight for answers and take care of yourself at the same time.
Embrace your journey – every messy, beautiful, confusing part of it.
Because you don’t need to change your child.
You just need to help change the world around them.
Create a world where they are understood, supported, welcomed, and celebrated.
Our journey is just beginning, but one truth has stayed with me from pregnancy to diagnosis and every moment before and after:
I still know exactly who I’m fighting for.