I was in a great mood. My morning was going well, and it was about to get even better as I set out ingredients to make a special after-dinner dessert. I preheated the oven and found my favorite Pandora station on my iPad. As I carefully measured the flour, sugar, and baking powder, a catchy dance tune filled my kitchen.
Aww. I wish Micah was here, I thought, bouncing to the beat.
I grabbed hold of that passing thought, held it up to my face, and stared at it — equal parts startled, sad, and achingly happy.
Micah is my 8-year-old son. He is my firstborn; one half of my identical twin boys; my sensitive, passionate soul-child; my talker; my dance buddy; my Scripture-loving sweetheart; my opinionated, emotional ball of energy.
God and I dearly love him, but boy do I butt heads with that child. Micah has ADHD, and we struggle daily with the challenges that it brings into our lives. ADHD is more than just having trouble paying attention or having a lot of energy; it affects his cognitive understanding of daily events, short term memory, and personal relationships.
Simply talking is difficult at times as he struggles to order his thoughts, capture them, and form logical, coherent sentences. Many days, we are at a standstill, eyes locked, voices raised, struggling simply to hear and be heard. Our mutual, daily “I’m sorry/me too,” has become a familiar ritual. We’re trying to figure out this relationship between the three of us: mother, son, and ADHD.