Today I was hanging up my fluffy housecoat when I noticed a little nightie on the shelf that my mother-in-law made for my daughter when she was around seven years old.

Seeing it made me cry because suddenly I could hear her little bare feet on hardwood floors, a little voice calling for me, and giggles at one of her dad’s silly punny jokes.

I miss my little girl —she’s a grown woman now.

The memories are beautiful, but they hurt so much that I often avoid thinking about them altogether.

I often wonder if other autistic moms find happy memories almost too painful to revisit because the emotions are so overwhelming.