Boing, boing, boing

Have you guessed what arrived at our house this week? Yes, it's an enormous 8 foot trampoline which I bought from Outdoor Toys Direct. My brother gave the children some money for Christmas and we thought a trampoline will serve us well for years to come. I was very impressed with the prompt delivery and my father was able to errect the trampoline and enclosure in less than two hours (he did have some help, or rather, hinderance, from Bea!). We're going to be very popular with our friends now - I can see us holding lots of barbeques this summer.

When we moved to this house in May last year, we bought James a small trampoline from Toys r Us. At 3 and a half, James had finally gained enough control of his leg muscles to be able to jump and we knew he'd love having a toy that he was allowed to jump on (as opposed to being told off for jumping on the bed or sofa). I had no idea that less than a year later he'd have outgrown it and be ready for a garden hogging contraption! But we moved to a larger house with a family garden specifically to be able to enjoy it, and somehow I can see James spending most of his free time outside bouncing - perhaps we should change his nickname to "Tigger".

Seeing him yesterday bouncing for over 2 hours non stop reminded me of Nick Hornby's introduction to Charlotte Moore's "George and Sam" where he describes his autistic son, Danny, trampolining naked at midnight. If James ever learns that he can get out of his bedroom when he wakes at 1am, then I imagine we'll find him outside, jumping on his trampoline.

I remember when I first read that introduction - it was a damp, cold September day and I'd phoned my health visitor to ask her to come and see me as I was concerned about James' behaviour. From her response, I could tell she thought he was acting up and being demanding as I had a new baby to look after and I didn't correct her. As long as she was coming to see us, I would be able to talk about his difficulties. James had seemed to be developing completely normally - there was certainly no difference between him and his same age peers when they all had their second birthdays - and with my professional hat on I had no concerns at age 2 years 4 months. After a rather stormy May (I was admitted to hospital at 37 weeks pregnant and spent 10 days as an inpatient) Bea was born and we started to try and settle down to life as four. As we became more and more concerned about James' behaviour I was placated by the usual comments "oh, he's just regressing because of the baby" "he's doing that because that's what the baby is doing""oh, he's being a typcial, lazy boy" but literally overnight he had stopped talking with us (preferring to repeat chunks of books over and over again to himself - which turns out to be "delayed echolalia" and a form of self stimulating and self soothing behaviour). I spent most of the summer watching and piecing together his behaviour - I had seen so much of it in my clinic that by the time I phoned my health visitor I knew he was autistic. But somehow until I made that phone call I hadn't wanted to face it head on. I wasn't denying it (I discussed the possibility with paediatric colleagues in July), I just didn't want to face the harsh reality that the diagnosis brings with it. So after that phone call I headed to the library to pick up some books. Charlotte Moore's was one of a handful of books on the shelf and I picked it up, started reading the introduction and promptly burst into tears.

Since that cold, September morning I have shed a lot of tears in a lot of places, but seeing James bouncing away, hearing the joy in his laughter, knowing I have found something that he loves to do, makes my heartbreak a little easier to bear and I smile proudly at my boucy boy. Boing, boing, boing.