Welcome to Cybertron

I just helped a random mom pick Diesel 10 out of a line up. 

And I realized our Thomas days are gone. 

3 years of Thomas. All day. Every day. Until the shift.

It's been 8 months now of transformers. Optimus Prime. Megatron. Bumblebee.

No more Thomas.

At two he called him "zha zip." (Language has never been his strong suit) He loved the trains, but if you showed him a Thomas movie he would hit the tv. No Thomas movies for him!!

At three all questions were answered with "choo choo train caboosie." 

How are you? "Choo choo train caboosie." 

What are you thinking about? "Choo choo train caboosie." (Generative language marked by perseveration. Say that three times fast eating Cheerios.)

Thomas movies became the end-all/be-all of life. On repeat. Autoplay. 

Then we made some progress; 

What do you want to eat? "Thomas eats coal." (WH-questions!!!!)

Then, one day, Thomas was gone. He slipped into his cave and Little Jackie Paper moved on to other things.

Change doesn't come often in our home. And when it does it rarely does so peacefully. But Thomas? He just up and vanished. Gone. Quietly.

As far as Boy was concerned, anyway.

Thomas is still here with me. Reminding me of the little boy who opened and repackaged his trains over and over and over for days after he got them. Who poured over the train inserts until they were soft and delicate like tissue. Who spoke with a robotic lilt about Thomas. And trains. And caboosies.

Edward, Gordon, James, Percy.... 

Thomas haunts all pre-diagnosis, frustrating, terrifying, beautiful and enlightening memories of my toddler Boy. Memories I pour over as I lay here, labeling trains for a Facebook stranger as she returns them to their original lineup before morning. I try as well as I can to mark the importance of their names. Of the importance their placement has to her son. Of the importance of ... Them. But I can't do it. I don't have the words I need. The words that say;

 "You will miss Thomas."

" You will miss train lines that run the length of your house. "

"You will miss the moment your Boy teaches you the difference between Diesel and Diesel No. 10; because trust me, there is a difference. "

"You will miss this when it's just a memory. "

Memories that remind how fast even these long, redundant, consuming, autistic days actually pass.

If only I had the words.

But the right ones don't come, so instead I dwell on Boy.

How I mark the days; recall his phases by toy obsessions. Track his language process by things with wheels and motors. Log developmental markers by the toy aisle we shop.

There are worse ways to log memories. 

I hope Random Mom gets it.

#GrowingUp