This little space here is almost always about my boys. About life with my boys. Rarely do I just talk about me. And because I don’t do that often here, when life is … well, life… and it seems to be focusing more on me than them? I have to work to justify writing about it here.
Because regardless of what some alternate opinions are, and even some circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I really….REALLY….work hard at not making it all about me.
Sometimes, despite the overall situation being about me, I’m fortunate enough to be able to see something in there that shows my amazing offspring to advantage. And there you have it. My justification for writing what I’m going to write.
I’ve talked about the fact that Bug struggles with Bipolar Disorder. I’m one of those parents who believes in using every possible tool available at my disposal to help him along his journey, as he learns how to control this disorder and integrate it into how he lives his life. That includes medication for him, and I’m totally on board with that. We’ve been fortunate enough to have doctors who don’t over prescribe, and who actually listen to me when I talk to them about how it affects him. And really, Bug has been fairly successful in learning to recognize when he’s headed towards a downward spiral, and works on getting through that with minimal collateral damage.
So, why is it he’s so successful? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because his mama is Bipolar, too.
The biggest difference between his struggles and mine is the medication. Oh, sure….I’ve had a lot more years to learn how to work with mine; but I’ve been slugging through mine without the benefit of medication. Not because I don’t believe in it, because I obviously do or I wouldn’t have my son on medication. But because at one point, the choice was literally “His medication or mine?” And naturally, his won. Now that we’re headed back to a point where I might be able to medicate us both, it’s absolutely something I’ll be talking to my doctor about. Especially after “that night” last week.
That night found me walking away from a pot of boiling water on my stove and sitting in my room in the dark, in tears, for no good reason that I could think of. That night heard me asking my sons to please not argue about one single thing, because mama was at the breaking point and I wasn’t able to recognize exactly what would be the shattering point. That night saw me explaining to Bug that I was feeling exactly how he does when his body feels itchy all over and like it’s going to break into a thousand different pieces if just one thing touches it. That night prompted my beautiful boy to come hug me anyway, and offer to make dinner so I wouldn’t have to. That night witnessed both of my boys to just come hug me anyway, trusting that I wouldn’t shatter into pieces so small that we’d never find them again. That night witnessed thoughts in my head going ‘round and ‘round, wondering what God possibly could have been thinking of, giving a mom like me to two amazing, wonderful boys like them?
I still don’t know what He was thinking, because I honestly don’t deserve them. But I’m more grateful than those boys will ever know.