When I first became a mother, I thought I knew what parenting would look like—milestones, baby giggles, first words… But my daughter Saiylor had her own timeline and a different way of showing me the world.
As a baby, Saiylor didn’t cry much. She didn’t smile often either. I told myself she was just a mellow child. When others asked if she laughed or cried, I’d smile and say, “She’s just quiet.” And I believed it. But one day I overheard someone at a gathering whisper, “That’s an interesting child” and my heart dropped. It stuck with me.
At this time, I was pregnant with my second child, exhausted and overwhelmed. Saiylor was a little over a year old. She didn’t respond to her name and often times preferred to play alone. I chalked it up to age-appropriate “parallel play,” but lingering doubts grew when I stumbled across a TikTok video on early autism signs. One of those signs specifically hit me: Not responding to their name.
That was Saiylor.
I spoke with her daycare providers. While they couldn’t diagnose her, they gently confirmed they’d noticed differences, too. With their support, I turned to her pediatrician, who referred us to Maryland’s Infants and Toddlers Program—a free early intervention service for children under three.
That’s when things began to shift.
Saiylor was paired with a speech-language pathologist (SLP) who worked with her in our home and at daycare. Though Saiylor was still nonverbal, she began learning basic sign language. Slowly, we were finding ways to connect. I started noticing her gestures, her energy, her expressions. I was learning how to listen with more than just my ears.
She also began working with an occupational therapist (OT), who helped us navigate her sensory sensitivities like discomfort with water on her face. I hadn’t realized how much those small challenges shaped her day. Watching the OT guide her through sensory exercises gave me practical tools I never knew I needed.
One day, I ran a bath for her without noticing the water had turned cold. When I checked, she was sitting in silence—no reaction. My heart dropped. She couldn’t tell me. She didn’t even flinch. That moment taught me just how differently she experienced the world and how urgently I needed to see it through her eyes.
Music became an amazing bridge. Saiylor adored it. She’d sing along to Ms. Rachel before ever saying a word. Her SLP introduced me to the term gestalt language processing—a way some children, especially those on the spectrum, process language in chunks rather than word by word. What I thought was just cute repetition turned out to be her first attempt at communication.
After several months, her SLP gently recommended a full developmental evaluation. I agreed without hesitation.
It was a three-day process. On the second day, they concluded: autism.
I cried. Not because I didn’t accept her, but because I was afraid. Would she speak? Would she struggle? I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding onto expectations of parenting until I had to let them go.
But this wasn’t the end. It was a beginning.
We expanded her therapies—adding private speech and occupational therapy, as well as Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA). I became a student all over again. Her SLP introduced me to sensory bins—tools to engage her through texture and play. I laminated flashcards with real-world images, learned how to set up structured routines and tried every tool I could find. Some worked. Some didn’t. But the act of trying became our foundation.
I also had to unlearn a lot. I used to think autism looked a certain way—nonverbal, dependent, difficult. But I’ve learned that autism is a spectrum, not a stereotype.
To any parent walking this path: I see you. The fear. The questions. The nights spent researching and second-guessing yourself. But early intervention isn’t about labeling your child—it’s about understanding them.
Autism doesn’t always show up the way we expect. It might look like a quiet baby. A toddler who sings but doesn’t talk. A child who doesn’t respond to her name or sits in cold water without reacting.
Behind those signs is a brilliant, beautiful child trying to be heard.
Saiylor is still writing her story. Every day, I get to witness her growing into exactly who she’s meant to be. And that is the greatest gift of all.
You can follow our journey and all the little lessons we’re learning along the way at @saiylor_rose on Instagram where we share moments, milestones and the tools that have helped us connect in a world that speaks in more ways than words.