He's always been a handful, ever since he was born. Last year we had a series of "THIS IS THE LAST STRAW!" moments where we knew we needed therapy, but we didn't want to pay for it until Jeremy had a real job. So we always kind of knew we'd look up a child psychologist when we got to wherever it was we were going.
So now he's been seeing a therapist for a few weeks. Before we started, I had so much anxiety just wondering what they would say about my son (and my parenting). I'm prone to anxiety anyway, so I don't need much of a reason to worry. I would get anxious just driving him to the appointments. Not just worrying about what they would say, but worrying that there simply was something wrong with my son.
So we did start to make some progress after implementing a new rewards system, and I started to exhale. But then came the day when I got a note home from school that he got in trouble for throwing a rock at his teacher. THROWING A ROCK AT HIS TEACHER?!?!?! The more I thought about it, the more I thought, this kid is weird. Who throws a rock at their teacher? What thought processes -- if any -- preceded such a decision? For a few days, I was saying in my head, "Intervention!" in the voice of the sharks of Finding Nemo (who have to restrain their fellow vegetarian-shark during a Fish Are Friends meeting.)
That was also when I decided we needed more than just a therapist. We needed a diagnosis. Need a diagnosis, actually, because the appointment isn't until November. And I continue to worry about what the diagnosis will be. I have a few things in mind - ADHD, Sensory Processing Dysfunction, Asperger's, Anxiety Disorder, Tourette's (conditions you become familiar with when you read books like, The Explosive Child or How to Handle a Hard-to-Handle Kid). I worry about what it will be. I worry that it will be nothing. That would be the worst, because a diagnosis (a correct one) is a tool to get help and understanding.
Look at this face.
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I'll keep you posted.
