I Want A New Drug

When I was growing up, I thought it was typical parental bullheadedness when they wouldn't buy a Ferrari like the one Magnum P.I. drove.   "It's too expensive."  Well, they said that about Nikes too, and dang if I didn't eventually get those, so what's the problem here?

It's hard for kids to sometimes sort out what's practical and what's parental stodginess and what's parental meanness - - exerting their authority just because they can.  Not that I would know anything about that.

My children think I'm the Meanest Mother Ever.  When they lob that accusation at me, I thank them and tell them that it's the best reassurance I have that I'm doing my job properly.  Also, that the hospital made me sign a contract before I took them home, promising to make their lives miserable.  After this there are dark looks and mutterings for a while, but I have come to enjoy it.

Anyway, I digress.

As an adult and a parent, I now understand why a Ferrari was a big "NO".  Not only is it indeed too expensive, it's also ridiculously impractical.  Where do the groceries go? The baseball equipment? The pet carrier?  HOW DO YOU SEPARATE YOUR CHILDREN IN A FERRARI?

I'm about a million miles away from driving a Ferrari.  I wanted a hip SUV - something sporty and 'up' a little bit, with heated seats and maybe a moonroof, with a great sound system, frosty a/c, three rows and lots o space.

What I ACTUALLY drive is a non hip, non sporty Family Truckster slash Grocery Grabber of the most mundane kind.  The seats are not heated, there is no moonroof, the a/c is profoundly broken and the sound system, while operative, could never be called 'great'.

However.

There are three rows.

This is essential.

I can't overstate this matter; I need.  NEED! To be able to separate my children while we hurtle along over the roads here, for the safety and mental wellness of all parties involved.

Most parents of more than one child know too well what it's like when the little darlings behind you set up howling about whether their brother is encroaching on their seat space or who's touching whose chicken McNuggets or what-have-you... and it is nearly inevitable that parents wind up flailing blindly, one arm swinging into the backseat hoping to make contact with someone and break up the mayhem.

No-one will, of course, admit to this.  But we all have our limits and for some reason, these fools like to pick the car as the place to start Something.

Adding insult to injury, my children are not run of the mill kids.  They both have High Functioning Autism, which is a lot like Rain Man Lite.  There's clinically diagnosed Anxiety Disorder, OCD, Sensory Integration Issues, Emotional Dysregulation, Impulse Control and, in one of them, a scorching unspecified mood disorder.  (To be honest, one of them has a condition called Pathological Demand Avoidance Syndrome which is a completely frustrating experience unto itself because, surprise!, it is not a condition recognized in the U.S., where we live, and yes, it is all EVERY BIT as fun as it sounds.)

This is more than a job.  This is more than TWO jobs.  This is a LIFESTYLE.  And honestly, forget the damn Family Truckster slash Grocery Grabber, I should be driving a short bus.  I'm not sure THAT would be big enough to keep them from kicking / throwing / yelling / looking at each other.

The point is this:  There is medication involved now.  The younger child has been on several highly recommended medications, 'well tolerated' and 'within established protocol for pediatric use' to try and curb his aggressive outbursts.  The first one would seem to work...then not.  So they'd increase the dose.  Then it would seem to work. ...Then...not.  So they'd increase the dose.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  FAIL.  They tried another drug with more 'sedating' properties; mega, ultra, King Kong sized fail.  Drug # 3, a different class of drug entirely, given the failure of the last two, has also proved an abject failure.   Now we are on Drug #4.  It will take a week or two for Drug 3 to leave the building, as it were, and we are approaching the end of week 2.   Drug 4 is on day 2. (Could I make this any more confusing?)

The first day and a half of Drug 4 was a dream.  My child reverted from a thorny, combative  aggressor to his toddler self - a sweet, dreamy, affectionate, giggly boy who loved elephants and cuddling.  I am desperately hoping this is the right drug for him because I fear for everyone's well being in terms of the psychic trauma being done all the time.

But by nighttime, my sweet boy had vanished behind this unspeakable hostility again; a barbed, unstable hostility with teeth in it, and entirely without logic or rationale he is able to explain.

Several tricks-up-my-sleeve later, he was back - giggling in his tub full of bubbles.  He made me an apology skit using an app on his tablet, featuring dancing hearts and animated cats meowing, "I love my mama", "I didn't mean to be mean to my mama", asking for hugs, kissing hands, and his bedtime songs.

I am so glad to see this child again - and I wish there were a medication to keep him at the fore and better manage the other stuff.  I hope this is it. Because THIS kid could probably manage an injury free car ride with his brother in the second row of the Grocery Grabber.  And someday, possibly in a ferrari.