Day One of ADHD

I know today is not his “first” day of ADHD, but it’s our first full day with the knowledge that this is really what’s happening inside his little brain and body.

I admit, when Seth walked into my bedroom this morning and said, “Hi, Mom.” At first I responded by saying, “What?” And then I thought, what is wrong with me?

What’s wrong with me? Well. My relationship with Seth has been straining increasingly thin the last few months especially. I don’t always enjoy being around him because obnoxious. He talks. All. The. Time. He makes these bizarre noises and can’t keep himself quiet. He freaks out over the smallest things and shrieks until my ears start bleeding. He follows me around the house asking me the same question over and over and over and over again, like he didn’t hear the answer the first dozen times I said it. He ignores me when I ask him to do something until I finally pop my lid and yell at him. And then he cries. And then I have guilt for being Monster Mom.

Even the seven hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep does little to soothe my frazzled nerves.

And then, I remember the words of the therapist yesterday.

He can’t help it. It’s not who he is, it’s something he has to deal with. His brain is working so hard. You will help him cope with it and teach him how to appropriately respond, but you’ll never make it go away. If it’s hard for you as the parent, think of what it’s like for him.

And then I think of his laugh when I tell him a joke. I remember how he snuggled me and kissed my arm last night and told me I was his favorite mom. And how he sat down and read Green Eggs & Ham all by himself.

And I blink and see the sleepy face of my darling little boy. And I swallow and say, “Good morning, buddy.”

And he smiles and says, “Morning.” Then he tells me he wants to go find his camera and take pictures.

Knowing he has a disorder helps me not get angry at him. I don’t yell at him anymore. It’d be like yelling at my dad, telling him to see better, without his glasses. That’s ridiculous. He can’t help his eyesight. My kid can’t help his brain.

And though I don’t get mad, it’s still frustrating to have to follow Seth around reminding him twenty times to put his pants on.

End of Day 1: Well. It started better than it ended, though in some ways, the end was better.

While getting his pajamas, Seth pulled out his regular undies to wear. I reminded him that he needs night time undies. He couldn’t find any, and we discovered they were all dirty. So I told him to grab a pull up.

“I HATE Pull Ups!” Which he’s never complained about before. But what I heard was, “I’m unhappy t hat I don’t get to do the thing that I wanted.” So I just hugged him and gave him a kiss and gently pushed him toward the bathroom to grab a pull up. After that it was like pulling teeth to get him to go to the bathroom and put his pajamas on.

By the time he did all that, everyone was waiting for us so we could read scriptures. And wouldn’t you know it? None of the ones we were reading had his favorite phrase: And it came to pass. He refused to read any of them. So we skipped him. And then the wailing began. He tossed and kicked and cried. We read as though he wasn’t bothering us, then we went in the other room to say prayers.

As we knelt to pray, Seth was in the living room dying a slow and painful death. I can still hear his wails of despair.

And Tyler and I broke into a fit of giggles.

Isn’t it better to laugh than to cry? Or yell.

Tyler calmly picked him up and put him in bed. Poor Seth fell right asleep.

I was glad tonight that we have extra knowledge because a meltdown like that would have sent me to the pantry for a stiff drink. And by stiff drink, I mean water with a squirt of caffeinated Mio.

Peace out.