I rarely ever talk about Monster on this blog. When I do talk about him, it’s usually about his physical well being and his mental health. I have a few honestly good reasons why. One of them is that I do blog about the most important things to us right now, and that is his mental well being and physical health. While mapping the road to our first baby together we have not lost sight of the long, dark road that lies ahead for us as a family, with or without a new baby. Monster’s fate rests heavily in our hands, and therefore heavily on this blog.
This journal has also become absorbed in my obsessive need to goal orient my life. In planning our future, my present has received little note, not here at least. This journal was started out of a need for companionship amongst like-minded lesbians (or in Calli’s case, honorary lesbians) who had taken the journey and succeed, or were just starting, like we were. Over time, these women have lent me strengthunimaginable and showed me a compassion that lacks in my day-to-day. Their journeys have steadied my hand and held me strong, their bravery has made me braver, and I feel more sound of mind than I have in a long time. Their choices have ultimately led me to defining my own choices, in both my life and my plans for trying to concieve. I was hotheaded, and their wisdom has cooled the fires to smouldering tinder.
Why Monster has been in the background is not easy to assume. It is not because he is not of me- a biological truth feels more like a lie as he resembles me more every day – and not because I did not raise him from birth. I could not love him any more if he had my eyes or my hands, physical likeness or not, he is my son more than ever. I cannot imagine a day without him in my life, and my heart aches for the years we were separated. I know the pain of missing a child, and I never want to relive it again.
The main reason for keeping a lot of his quirks and daily details silent is for his safety and anonymity. At 11 he is old enough to be embarrassed by being put in a public forum, no matter how small the audience may be. I strive to keep him as private as I can, while still sharing the joy that is my Monster. I don’t want him to find this journal when he’s 16 and be completely mortified with what is held within.
All that being said, at this age, development comes in leaps and bounds and happens so fast I can’t blink without missing it, let alone blog. He changes his mind on what he likes so frequently there’s no keeping up. As we are constantly getting rid of his old toys, my heart cripples a little, wondering how long it is before he no longer needs me for everything. I will mourn that day for the rest of my years.
His personality is such that most of my posts are centered around his disorder because it really does consume a large chunk of our parenting. We’re constantly doging the bullets, and are therefore completely preoccupied with this demon in his head.
We are so shamefully tired of this struggle. We thrill for the day it is controlled, and things maintain a sense of sanity. I want my sweet boy back , the one who stood at the edge of my bed, begging to sleep with me while Fil was at work. I don’t think I gave myself enough time to absorb those moments, the way he needed me more than anything in the world. He would cuddle against me, and I could hear his breath go slow with the weight of sleep upon him. I never knew those moments were brief and already leaving before they had time to impact. I thought him immune to aging. How naive.
I now relish those moments when they return, fleeting as they may be, when he needs me to hold him, or when he comes to me with his arms spread wide and a look of pure, shining love in his eyes – the look that tells me he’ll love me, deeply as always, no matter how many times I take his DS away or tell him to rotate his clothes.
Not all is bad with Monster. He is a joy to have every day. Even if he has one of his horrible days, there are pinpoints of light that direct us in the right direction. When he puts his clothes away without hassle, or presents his wide opened mouth, showing me that he chewed his vitamin without prompting. Little things that make me marvel at this boy I have made my own, who has grown to adopt some of my mannerisms, who clings to me so feverishly, afraid he’ll lose his mother for good. I am surprised when he joyously accompanies me on errands, kisses my cheek with his oriental Ra*men breath and begs me to watch TV with him. I feel there is no greater power in the world than doing things to make him shiver with excitement, like buying him his favourite bubble gum or watching Phin*eas and Fe*rb with him for hours. There is also no greater gift than the smile he gives me, wide and true. I struggle to memorize every feature of his boyish face creased in a smile, knowing that gifts like that are ever precious as he ages.
I can’t stress enough how it pains me that he struggles with this disorder every day. Whether it is ADHD or some disease that lurks behind common symptoms, we won’t know until we see his psychologist. I fear the path we are taking him down, one where he will alternately feel betrayed and relieved, hate us and love us. Then, and only then, when he is healthy and mentally stable, when this disease no longer consumes our family, will it be easier to write about things other than his problems.