Having another baby when your children are diagnosed autistic.

I’m not going to lie. The first thing I thought was, “I can’t”.

I cried. I cried to my son since he was the only person in the house when I did the test, bought on a whim, on a Friday night; and, while I’m being honest, the reason I felt I can’t. I remember the struggle bringing him up. And yet here he was, hugging me, telling me that it would be ok, that he was happy about the idea of a brother or sister, but it was up to me to decide what I wanted.

When I, later, told Tom, the shock was palpable. No joy; just panic. What will we do? Keeping it didn’t enter his head. But I was already coming up with a contingency. Nurseries. Childminders. I started putting names I don’t yet know for a child who was barely even conceived down on lists that very night, knowing that half the battle was childcare, or the lack thereof, and the fact that all the battling with Jonah had mostly been mine, alone, to bear.

Ava, was, as usual, nonplussed. Neither happy nor sad – how she is most of the time; devoid of the emotional extremes that mark and mar her brother and me. Her way of staying on an even keel is by getting plenty of time to be herself- cosied up on a beanbag with YouTube to entertain her. I can completely see how a baby or a toddler may cramp her laid-back style: too unpredictable. Too noisy. Too unlike her. But then she was never much into babies. Or dolls, or any of that nurturing stuff. So I’ve tried to sell it to her in a way she can get on board with- that it will be like a new pet. Well it will, at least to start off with. Just with more shit and grizzle.

Too, was the fear that this one will be autistic. When you’ve two on the spectrum, the likelihood is, it’s just the way you’re made- never mind the stresses and strains and environmental toxins or whatever that I may have been exposed to during each of their pregnancies.

Since deciding to go ahead with the birth, or rather, refusing to have an abortion, I’ve been searching like mad about what may affect a child’s chance of autism, pre-birth. Of course, there’s nothing you can do about the genetic component, but things like gluten, early scans, environmental toxins and even caffeine are thought to have an impact.

But it was too late to do much about the scan I had to confirm my pregnancy at 8 weeks (which are said to increase symptoms, or rather, characteristics, in the genetically predisposed) or the fact I’d been scarfing bread to cope with the nausea, or that we had the staircase painted in stinky gloss circa week 8, or that I’d not wanted to take pregnancy vitamins if we weren’t even sure we were keeping it. It was only afterwards, I realised folic acid in the first month can have a preventative effect.

Too late then, but then I have worse fears – my age, and Tom’s, upping the risk of Down’s. The fact I was eaten alive in a confirmed Zika zone. Two cold sores in the first three months. And two minor car accidents adding to my stress burden that is known now to be bad for baby (so much for what it may do to me.)

And yet I can only remain optimistic, whatever challenges the future may hold; take each day as it comes. But, on the day of my 12 week scan (I’m about 12 plus 4 apparently) I can’t resist a little shiver of excitement about seeing my baby as something more than just a shapeless blob, and what we may be able to determine about them from this tiny peek into the unknown.