When Small Words Feel Like Fireworks

 Wyatt’s vocabulary is slowly growing. Most days he echoes nursery rhymes and hums along to every song like it’s his job. His words aren’t always clear, but you can hear the effort... the way his mouth and mind are trying to meet in the middle. And then, every once in a while, a phrase slips out - crystal clear, perfectly placed... and it knocks the air right out of my lungs.

The other night, around bedtime, I heard him say, not super clearly but undeniably, “I wanna go upstairs.” Then, “Go to bed.” Such ordinary words. Such an extraordinary moment. It’s wild how easily those with neurotypical kids can move past the little things - how a simple sentence can barely register. For me, each new word is a firework. He’s given me a brand-new appreciation for the tiniest details of being human.

Last night I lay beside him, like I always do until he falls asleep. The room was completely still. I thought he was out. Then, in the softest, surest voice, he said, “Good night.” Clear as day. I felt tears slide down before I even realized I was crying. That’s what Wyatt does to me - he turns the smallest milestones into these huge, heart-splitting victories.

And then there’s his little sister. Things land differently for her. You ask her to throw something away.... she toddles over and does it. You ask her to bring you something - she beams and delivers. Watching her follow simple directions can feel surreal, like I’m witnessing magic tricks in my own kitchen. That contrast is complicated; it’s beautiful and baffling at the same time. It doesn’t make one child more or less... it just means our family measures progress with multiple rulers.

If autism has given our family anything, it’s reverence for the small stuff. A whispered “good night.” A new syllable shaped just right. A quiet attempt at “upstairs.” These moments - these tiny, ordinary miracles... are our treasures. They slow me down, pull me close, and remind me that growth doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it arrives on tiptoes, carrying a single, shining word.

Good night, buddy. Say it again tomorrow. I’ll be listening

Kerri