Those are happy tears, right mama?

I've hesitated to broadcast the recent good news for fear of jinxing things, but then I remembered that I don't believe in jinxes, so here it is: Eliot has been doing FANTASTIC for two whole weeks. That may not seem like much to those of you with typically developing kids, but for us, it's like a miracle.

Two solid weeks of good days at school, no major meltdowns or incidences, always smiling and happy when I come to pick him up, doing his homework thoughtfully and without complaint. Two weeks of him being reasonably well behaved and actually joyful at home.  For two entire weeks my son has not hated himself, called himself stupid while punching himself in the head, tore up or tried to break his favorite things in a rage, or attacked the people who he loves the most.

Best school day report EVER.
I didn't even know they had a 2+. It's like the amp that goes up to 11!

Contrast with the day, only a few months ago, that he spent more than an hour in an absolute fury, screaming, trying to punch, kick, bite, scratch, and spit on me; ran to a window and threatened to jump out. When his inner storm passed and he fell in bed, exhausted, he gently kissed the spot where he saw his own teeth marks on my arm and said remorsefully, "Mommy, you should give me away or throw me in the garbage. I don't deserve a mommy like you. Your life would be better without me."

THIS is the same boy who now has been happy and has felt like he is a good kid for two full weeks. More then two weeks, even! (It's taken me a couple days to finish this blog post.) Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

We've had brief reprieves before, so I know not to count on this being a permanent condition. But I'm sure you'll forgive me if I pause to celebrate anyhow. You may recall my post this past October, when he had a few good weeks (though never quite this good) after first starting on ADHD meds. I had spent several years disdainful of the possibility that my son might need medications.

ADHD is just a diagnosis for a kid who needs more exercise or who doesn't fit the mold in school, right? It's a condition invented by the pharmaceutical companies, right? It's just the sign of a spoiled brat whose parents are afraid to discipline him, right? Right. No problem. I've got this covered. When my son didn't fit in at school, I pulled him out and home-schooled for most of a year. I made sure he ran around like crazy. I was strict as all get out. But oddly enough, none of this was a magic cure. How about vitamins? Talk therapy? OT? Food sensitivities? Tried them all and then some. Nope. Meds, two of them now. Concerta, 18 mgs, twice a day. Risperdal, .5 mgs, twice a day. The second daily dose of Concerta was added about two weeks ago, and that was when we truly saw the flip switch for Eliot. Night and day. Now my sweet child can control his own body and impulses and emotions, almost as well as any other kid. And he is HAPPY. My boy is happy.

And I just want to collapse and weep out of relief and gratitude and exploding heart-fulls of love for my dear, sweet, happy son.

Two weeks. Yeah. What do you say, kiddo? Let's go for two more.