Guilty Pleasure

My youngest son is Dyspraxic and has ADHD, he was diagnosed at 9, but I always knew there was something... I won't say 'wrong' with him because I don't think of it as an illness or a defiency it's just part of his makeup and makes him who he is.  Intelligent, funny, sarcastic, persnickety, ultra logical and painfully honest.  But I also won't say it is easy to live with either, hence the guilty pleasure title of the post... I feel guilty that I am happy that he has gone to his fathers for a few days, after an entire summer holiday of Conor I need a break from him, whilst he is all the positive things I said he is also irritating, argumentative, blunt to the point of rudeness and totally oblivious to anyone's feelings but his own.

I guess I always knew there was something different about him from when he was really small, it was little things, rapt attention to a task to the point of obsession sometimes, but I got that, I was like that myself so I understood it.  It was later, at school that his issues really came to the foreground, constant arguments with a specific teacher after which I would be called in and complained to about his behaviour.  Apparently him pointing out that she was incompetant was inappropriate (even if it was true...she got fired by the end of the term). I did try pointng out that she should be impressed that not only did a 7 year old know in what context to use the word 'incompetant' (secretly I was well chuffed) but he could also spell it correctly... Now that is impressive you have to concede!

A period of 2 years of constantly complaining from the school about Conor's "rudeness" and for rudeness I would substitute "excessive bluntness" my son calls a spade a spade,  if you're ugly he would happily tell you, my dearest friend Suzi will testify to this, not the ugly part, she isn't,  but Conor christened her cabbage and it's stuck.  This was a very difficult time, as a single parent I was endeavouring to date and had many a man seen off by Conor baring his arse at the poor chap.  I think in his mind it was some sort of test to see if they would stick around.... If you can bear the sight of my arse you're alright with me! Kind of thing....   Not many men managed to stick it out I have to say.

But the most difficult side effect of Conor's behaviour was my mental health.  I couldn't work out where I was going wrong? At his fathers he was a model child, at home he was hell on legs,  he seemed to enjoy tormenting me, many was the day I locked myself into my bedroom with him battering on the door demanding entry whilst I sat on the inside crying bitter tears wondering what was I doing wrong. 

The day came when then school insisted he go to the child and adolescent mental health dept for assessment and I will be forever grateful for that insistance... After tests suddenly there was a reason... I wasn't a shit parent with an out of control 'naughty' child.  I was the parent of a Dyspraxic child and all of a sudden the lights came on.  

Treatment for the ADHD was offered and administered and things did get better, obviously Dyspraxia is not a condition that has a pharmaceutical solution but there are coping mechanisms and behavioural therapies that help and we use them.  

We haven't, however, managed to find a way of stopping Conor taking great pleasure in tormenting me, trust me 4 hours of being poked in the arm repeatedly by a knittng needle would be enough to send a saint into a screaming fit... I am no saint trust me... I scream!

But i have learned to see the behaviour as in some ways flattering, he torments me because he feels safe, I'm the one person he feels safe enough tormenting that he feels won't go anywhere, I'll put up with it and him because he is my son and I love him.

Doesn't mean I won't lose the plot and throw a shoe at him though... Like I said... I am no saint.

So here is to my days off from Conor... my holiday so to speak and when he comes home and asks did you miss me? I will be as forthright as he and say "no!"

The Power of Words

Over the last two weeks I have been recuperating from our sad loss, it's not easy being upbeat, although you do have to try, children don't always understand loss and sadness, they generally haven't had to experience it and why should they, they're children and shouldn't have to face these things until they're all grown up, the flush of youth is gone and they discover how truly shitty life can be. Let's not rush them into that one eh!

So I have been having to hide just how sad I feel from my sons mostly because I can see how sad my sadness makes them. I can see how worried they are about me and it was brought home to me just how scared these miscarriages make them when my 14 year old said, "you won't be doing that again will you mum". I thought he meant the miscarriage bit, but he was actually talking about trying to get pregnant again! It's one thing when Conor says it, being dyspraxic I kind of expect him to come out with things like that. But when my older son Daniel said something similar I realised just how frightened they are and how much they understand about the process I go through.

I couldn't really explain to Conor why it was so important to me to try again, he just doesn't understand but I gently pointed out to Daniel that if I hadn't kept trying the five times before he stuck, he wouldn't be here and how empty and sad would my life have been then? I think he "got it" but who knows, the workings of the teenage boys brain are a mystery to me. I often look up, ignoring the loud cracking in my neck and wonder how this beautiful 6ft 5in creature ever came out of me and then being ever so grateful that I inherited my fathers stubborn streak and kept on plugging away trying to have a baby.

I have managed to secure my health insurance companies support to go and see Dr Shehata at the Miscarriage Clinic in the hopes that he will be able to find out why my pregnancies are ending the way they are. He seems to behaving some success with women who have recurrent miscarriage. I am hoping to have a test for Natural Killer Cells which could be the reason I am having such trouble.

I wonder if I am crazy to hope that they are...? If they are then there is a reason for this to be happening to me and also a treatment, both of which would be a good thing, a step forwards instead of the 10 steps backwards I constantly seem to be taking.

The worst part is not knowing... not knowing means you can't make decisions. Not knowing means you run around in stupid circles blaming yourself for some imaginary thing you think you did to cause the miscarriage, cursing your body for failing you or just feeling an utter failure for not being able to do something so natural, something every woman's body is designed to do.

So roll on April, I am not looking forward to the trek into London, I hate going into London but small price to pay for an answer.