Damian

From the day I got pregnant I was sick. I knew something was wrong because I was sick for two weeks straight and not getting better. The doctor took a pregnancy test and said, “Mazel Tov!” Oh, yes, congratulations to me! For the next eight months I went from being sick every day to being unable to walk. I was in a wheelchair for anyplace that required a lot of walking. I was on bed rest for the last few weeks before the birth. My blood pressure skyrocketed at every turn. My body became toxic and they rushed me to the hospital. Six weeks early and I needed an emergency C-section.

When we got home from the hospital Joshua wouldn’t sleep much. He was up all of the time. There were brief stretches of time when he would totally crash, but most of the time he was crying. He wanted to be held constantly. I did nothing without him attached to me in some way. Something was obviously wrong. No doctor could tell me anything but colic. Which was definitely not the case. I had little sleep, few showers and a lot of tears. As Joshua became a toddler there was the biting and hitting and tantrums. He would draw blood on us and himself, a few classmates too. He was kicked out of preschool. What child gets kicked out of preschool? He still never slept. He was mean and physically hurtful. We couldn’t leave the house for anything because he would throw such terrible tantrums that it kept us prisoners. And then he grew into a young kid. His tantrums continued but this time he was more powerful and stronger. We had to learn basket holds and restraints. We had to learn how to protect ourselves. He chased me with scissors. He tried to chop our cat’s tail off with a butcher knife. He punched and kicked walls and car windows. He tore us to shreds. Then he became a tween. A new set of issues. Always a lovely new set to adapt to. Now he’s a teenager. He’s mean. He thinks it’s funny to upset people. It will never end, will it? We have tried to make his life easier. We have taken him to doctors, therapies, classes, hospitals. We have showered him with love and self esteem boosters. We have spoiled him with gifts. We have taken him on day trips, outings and vacations. We have taken parenting classes, sat in therapy session after therapy session, made charts and graphs and schedules. We have protected him, urged him, taught him, disciplined him. We have supported him emotionally and physically. We have done everything and then some.

He hates the rules of the house. He is not grateful for anything he has. At our Thanksgiving dinner, as we went around the table to say what we are thankful for, guess who mentioned everything else except his parents. Thanks for his wonderful grandmother, food, and his friends at school. That’s it. Are you kidding me?

I’d love to blame it all on medication but I never know how true that is. Joshua is mean, rude and selfish. My mother tells me that it’s part of being a teenager and I just need to let him do whatever he needs to. Yeah….no. I would never, ever have spoken to my parents the way Joshua speaks to us. I had my time of talking back, but I would never have taken it this far.


Tonight, after much arguing and carrying on about anything, Joshua asked me if he will be “free” when he’s an adult. He also asked if he would be capable of being on his own finally. Interesting word to use…capable. I told him that when he can wipe his own ass completely, put his own jacket on, pour his juice and wash his own hair then he’s a step closer to being capable enough to live on his own. I was ready to slam him with everything I could to show him how incapable he is right now. I bit my tongue.

Then as the evening wore on out came the baby talk and the “watch me”, “look at me” bullshit. Make up your mind. Do you want to be a free adult or a baby who needs to be the center of attention? It’s a confusing time and I get that. The least he could do is be a little bit nicer about it! I am in a constant state of tears when he is around. This is not an exaggeration.

Seems like from the moment he was conceived we were just destined to have this cruel bond. Perhaps I should have named him Damian.