Tomorrow a woman named Nikki will come to our home and tell us what the psychiatrist thinks about Nathan. This should be a old hat to us. It will be the third time we have done this.
Part of me feels like just being done with it all! Maybe I don't need to hear what she has to say. Maybe I don't want to know what that psychiatrist thinks about my little guy. Maybe I think we are doing just fine by Nathan.
But the other part of me says, "We need help!" There are days when Nathan does fine and he seems like any typical five year old. There are others days when we feel like we just don't "get him" and his strange way of thinking.
He is our little nutty professor. He can talk about things that most twenty year oldsdon't know and memorize huge amounts of information. But then he can't figure out simple things. He lacks common sense. He gets so easily frustrated and wants to give up on everything! He gets so anxious. We want help with that. We want him to cope with these frustrations he feels. We don't want him to end up in tears several times a day about "small" things.
So we trudge forward.
I am not nervous about tomorrow. I am weary thinking about tomorrow.
We want what is best for Nathan. We want to help. We do not want to over-diagnose. We don't want to force him into a cookie cutter shape of what someone else things he should be.
Tell me how to help him when he is surrounded by people and he shuts down or panics or just cries. Tell me how to help him have fun at events. Tell me how to teach him to cope better with his many frustrations. But don't tell me how to raise him.
All I can say is, "Bring it on."