I looked back at my son, hanging upside down on the monkey bars. “Sounds like you have Asshole syndrome,” I said. “Have you ever thought of that?”

In my head, I said that. What I said out loud was something like, “We think he’s just Jake, and that’s good enough for us.”

“Well, he might have Asperger’s,” she pursued. "And you should have him tested.”

“Well, you might be a bitch," I said, in my head. "Is there a test for that?”

My actual words were, “We’re not interested in labeling him at this point.”

I was standing under a tree with a woman from our home-school play group when this dreaded “developmental milestones conversation” occurred. Her son had all his multiplication facts memorized; mine still hadn’t memorized addition facts. Her son was complimented for being polite; mine often ignored other children's personal space. Her son was reading three grade levels ahead; mine was reading three below.

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