PYHO: So Blessed

I’m a worrier, just like my mother before me. I worry about Jellybean’s future. I worry about bullies—mostly my child becoming one.

 I worry about so much that I really have no control over. I do my best to teach them life skills, how to respect others, how to give and show love on a regular basis. 

How to treat others the way they want to be treated.

I worry about Scooby too. He’s three, still, and becoming this awesome, sweet, and VERY independent little person. I worry about his speech issues. I worry that his huge heart will get broken because he’s just a typical three old boy with this really big zest for life, and it often gets him in trouble. I worry that he will follow in his sister’s footsteps and have ADHD too.

So, I watch. I love. I teach. I discipline. I snuggle. I play. 

I pay extra close attention to tongue placement when we talk. I give him moments of independence that are appropriate for him. He gets to make some decisions on where we go, what he wears.

He gets hyper in the evening. He is incredibly active, almost constantly in motion from the moment his eyes open, til the moment he is tucked into bed at night. He has his quiet moments where he will sit and play with his cars for 30 minutes here and there. 

His imaginative play has picked up and I’m finding it to be quite entertaining. His ability to play pretend, something his sister never did, has my heart doing little leaps and cheers. 

Watching him grow, something I wasn’t able to do in the same way with his sister, has helped me understand just how early Jellybean’s symptoms began emerging. 

It lets me rejoice in his accomplishments because they are so very unique to me, and so very normal for him.

Empathy is a huge struggle for Jellybean. She is so very literal that she has a difficult time seeing things from another’s perspective, even when it is explained to her. She lacks empathy, sadly. She has never shed a tear for anyone but herself in all her eleven years. Not when her beloved Grandma Nora died. Not when her Poppy passed away on Christmas. Not when her puppy died. Not to a sappy commercial. 

She has never cried to a movie, a commercial, a book, or because of something happy. 

Yesterday, for the very first time, at a moment I least expected it, I caught Scooby sniffing and wiping his eyes as he sat at the edge of my bed watching Where the Wild Things Are on HBO. It was the end of the movie and the wild things were wailing because Max was leaving.

AND MY SON WAS CRYING.

For the first time. 

For someone else.

Bipolar Tuesday (With MommyLebron)

Ever wondered exactly what goes on in The Drama Mama household? Today I give you the raw unedited peek into my mood swing filled day. Come on in, take off your shoes at the door please, grab yourself a drink and relax on my couch. It's gonna be a long Sunday...

GC wakes me up late on Sunday morning stating "The kids are playing outside on the front porch."
"Did you give Jellybean permission to take Scooby outside?" I ask him, as he lays in the bed beside me.
"No." He says.
"Did she ask your permission to go outside?"
"No."
GC rolls out of bed, and Scooby is tapping me to give me hugs and morning snuggles.
"I go outside!!" he says, placing his ice cold hands on my very warm face.
I banish Jellybean to her room with instructions to write 10 reasons why she should not take her brother outside without permission. An attitude and a door slam later, she produces her list. It includes such gems as:

• Because I am stupid (this is her new thing & it drives me crazy!!)
• Someone could take us.
• He could run down the hill and get hurt.
• Because I am not an adult. (She has an inflated ego that requires reminders that she is still a child and I am the parent).
• Because he could hurt Zeus (the dog)

Less than 2 hours later, she is sent to her room yet again. This time for punching her brother in the stomach after he tried to choke her, which was in response to her attitude when she threw his Fisher Price School Bus in from the back porch and hit him in the leg only moments before. She was told to produce 15 reasons why she is not to retaliate against her brother. This is what she came up with:

• Because he is my brother
• Because I am not an adult
• Because I am only his sister
• Because I will get my butt whooped
• Because I don't need to hit him
• Because I am dumb
• Because I am not nice
• Because I am aggressive
• Because I can't control myself
• Because it hurts him when I hit him
• Because I can't stop once I start
• Because I do it for no reason
• Because I do it regularly and he is going to get me back (lol, He does!)
• Because he is only 3
• Because I will get in trouble

What's the significance of this, you ask?

Do you realize only a year ago, making a list like this would have been IMPOSSIBLE for Jellybean?

It shows an ability to sympathize. It shows that her mind is clear enough to be able to think things through. It shows that she is learning personal responsibility. It also shows me that she is aware of her actions and sometimes she does them purposefully.

She has started directing her anger to her brother now, which is not a good thing at all.

He understands her emotions, not necessarily her words, and he is super sensitive to start with. If I raise my voice to him because he is not listening, he is instantly remorseful and starts crying. (did I mention he is super sensitive?). I think her attitude hurts him more than her words do.

"I hate you." She said to him. Her voice was dripping with venom. His face dipped down. His bottom lip came out.

His sister is his hero. He lives for the weekends when she is home. He lives for the moment she walks in the door from school.

Poor Scooby.

This is gonna be a LONG summer.

If you notice over there in my right sidebar, you see a pretty pink badge from My Child's Bipolar Now What? This is a group started by Amanda Lebron of the blog, Rage Against the Washing Machine, to offer a place for support, to ask questions, and just know you are not suffering alone. She dedicates Tuesdays to her daughter's dx. This week I am joining in. Feel free to share your stories.