Nay, of the year. Of the DECADE.
Noah, to Ike, who was whining loudly about his sock getting wet:
"It'll dry! It'll be fine!"
It will dry. It will be fine.
This, from the kid for whom socks in general were once a regular source of meltdowns, who required special-order sensory socks without toe seams, who most certainly would've required a fresh dry change of socks IMMEDIATELY after stepping in something wet, oh my God, are you kidding.
It's easy to get bogged down in the tiny details of the present, with how things are right now, because their future seems too big to worry about. Parents of typical kids make the jokes about "no kid goes to college in diapers" or "I promise he won't still ask for a bottle in junior high," and of course, that's all true. But there are kids in college who special order their socks. There are kids in junior high who wear noise-cancelling earmuffs and sit on special seat cushions. (I know that one is true because next year it'll be mine.) There are adults who struggle every single day with so many things, and it's easy to picture your child's struggles following them for life, bothering them, limiting them.
Will he be able to talk, to chew and swallow, stop melting down over every little thing? Will the stimming always be so obvious? Will the feel of grass always bother him so much? Is he going to make friends? Is he going to get teased, or bullied? Will he ever enjoy a party, a concert, a date? Will he be able to work in an office, hold down a job, have a relationship?
For every little victory or bit of progress you celebrate, there's always something else to worry about, fogging up your view of the big picture. Yes, he's comesofar and donesowell, and yet there's always a fresh batch of A, B and C that could potentially lead to X, Y and Z.
I do try very hard not to do that. To step back from the worry and take a deep look at him, in all his quirky, accomplished glory. He's come so far, and done so well.
It will dry.
It will be fine.