Magic Pill

Thing Two has had a particularly rough week or so.  The behaviors that mark his otherness have been more prominent than usual, which always sets my teeth on edge and my stomach to churning.  I am so hoping that the problem is the accumulated lack of routine and that the start of school in a week or so will help.  Yes, he is better than he used to be.  Much, much, much better.  But it is still very apparent that he is not quite like all the other kids.

Today, I left Things One and Two at the childcare area of the gym while I worked out.  When I came back, I was told by Thing One that other kids had been asking him questions about his brother's behavior, which broke my heart.  He stood up for his little brother, but it kills me that he has to.  Unfortunately, I would guess that this is just the beginning, and I thank God for the kind heart of my eldest.  He is going to need it.  Along with all the patience and forbearance he can muster.

Sometimes, other bloggers muse whether, if such a thing as a magic pill that would make their child "normal" existed, they would give that pill to the child.  A surprising number say (at least publicly) that they would not, that the challenges they face are part of what makes the child unique and wonderful.

I am here to tell you that, if such a pill existed, I would give it to my child without a second's hesitation.  I would trade my own life for that pill some days.

All I want is for my son to be normal.  To fit in.  To have friends.  For myself not to have to worry every day about whether he will be able to live independently as an adult.  Basic things that so many parents take completely for granted.  I can't even imagine NOT giving him that pill if I had a choice.

But of course, there is no such pill, and I have no such choice.  He may get to "normal," or at least close enough, someday.  He has made so much progress over the years that the doctors are guardedly optimistic for him.  The brains are there, no question.  Kid is damned smart.  The wires getting to his brain are just scrambled, but they are mightily scrambled, and the language pathways were affected most of all.  Poor kid got the shallow end of the genepool in several different ways.

So we fight every day to get things just a little bit better, to make him understand and speak better, to make him understand interpersonal dynamics better.  It is an uphill battle and I am often so desperately sick of it, but it is a battle for the long haul.  In the absence of the magic pill, this battle is the only chance we have.

And it is helping.  I know that it is helping.  But some days I just want to cry, and today is one of those days.  I know that I have so many blessings to count, including him, and I will start counting again tomorrow.

Tonight, I am wishing for that damned pill.