What Kind of Burger Am I?

One of the most stressful things about getting Joshua's Asperger's diagnosis was wondering how we were going to, if we were going to, tell him. Of course we would tell him, but when? He was 9 when after years and years of evaluations, testing and therapy sessions that we finally got an answer. Do we wait until we've had more time to absorb the information? Will he understand better if he's just a little older. We truly didn't know what to do and I was making myself sick from worry.

There is no way we would have kept this from him. Joshua's a smart kid and he was at the age where kids start being real mean asses if someone is different. He deserved to know what was going on and why he got to leave school early every week to go "play" with Angie (his occupational therapist) and once a month to go chat it up with Marc (his therapist).

One day, a few weeks after we got the official diagnosis, we were on our way home after leaving a therapy session. I don't remember exactly what we were doing or talking about but I'll never, ever forget the words that came out of Joshua's mouth.

"Mom? What kind of burger am I?"

Huh? What on Earth is he talking about?

"What do you mean, sweetie?" I asked him.

"Well, Marc said I was a burger and I wondered what kind of burger."

Our mouths hit the floor. The whole time we would be in these session and Joshua would tune us out to color or draw while the adults talked, he was listening and remembering every word we said. We never said "Aspergers" above a whisper in these meetings because we wanted time to figure out what to tell him. Joshua solved that problem for us. I said the first thing that came to mind.

"You're totally a cheeseburger."

When we got home we sat down with him and explained in our best 9 year old terms what it meant to have Asperger's and how it affects him. He would nod and listen intently and then all we got in response was "Ok. Can I play with your phone?"
That was it. The big dramatic reveal. All the weeks of wondering what to say that was making me so unnerved that I was losing sleep and my face was breaking out like I was a 13 year old boy and he has the audacity to take it in stride. Humph. The nerve.

In all seriousness I was relieved he took it so well. The last thing I wanted was for him to be upset or think this made him less than what he was. I learned something very important that day that I try my hardest to remember. If Joshua's not stressing, Momma doesn't need to stress. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.