I'm a Mom???

Even so-called "normal" Moms ask themselves this question from time to time, I understand. Obviously, this has even greater significance to me. At least I think so. Everyone worries about screwing up their kids too, (or so I have also heard) but when you have a mental illness there's probably a greater danger. I definitely wonder how my episodes have affected mine, on top of the normal concern that just the decisions one has to make as a parent affects them as well.

I have a few kids, who shall remain nameless. They're little, but growing up a tad bit faster than I might like. Sometimes not fast enough. At least on my bad days. My youngest is in a difficult stage. Or maybe I'm in a difficult stage. Or maybe we're like-minded. Scratch that. My mind is...well...you know already what my mind is like.

That's a big worry for me, even though it's out of my control. (Just like everything I worry about.) There is a genetic predisposition to Bipolar Disorder and I fear that one, two, nine, or all of my kids (ok, so I don't have that many) have it. One in particular already has a dramatic bent to her personality and concerns me the most. I was a dramatic child (ya think???). One difference is that I had an unwavering desire to please and need for approval. She does not have this. It's her world, we're just lucky to live in it. I have another that has the need for approval. He is sensitive like I was. Needless to say, I worry about him, too. The other is a little goofball and a heart attack in the making. I don't worry about him so much. Well, I worry about him jumping off large objects and running with scissors and the like, but not about the Bipolar. Yet. I have faith that I will eventually find a reason. I always do.

My kids have seen a lot, though. I've been taken away in an ambulance a number of times. I've cried a lot. I've screamed my head off too many times to count and thrown things (not at them, gratefully). I've hallucinated and run away. I've isolated myself from them. I had to "go away" once. I had to go to the hospital a couple times that had nothing to do with being Bipolar, but that gets lumped in, too. So, what does this mean to them, for them? I wish I could see inside their little heads. Outwardly, they seem to have taken it in stride. With my oldest, who is remarkably perceptive at 7 years old, I've been pretty straightforward. I've told him I'm Bipolar and given him a simple explanation of what that means.

One time, my daughter got sick. The pediatrician filling in for our normal doctor thought it might be something requiring a surgical procedure, and of course I immediately went to the worst. My oldest caught me crying, and got a little worried about his sister. I tried to cover up, told him she was ok and it was nothing serious. So why was I crying? I reminded him I am Bipolar and he said "Oh yeah...you always cry even when it's not that bad." Then he walked away.

There is this song called "Paranoid" by The Jonas Brothers. (Just peachy.) My kids love it. (Even peachier.) So again, my oldest pipes up with "Mom, what does paranoid mean?" I came up with some simple explanation and he said "Oh, like you, huh!" My jaw dropped and I think I had to pick a few flies out before I finally closed it. Again, he was nonplussed. It seems despite his sensitivity, he is remarkably well adjusted. I don't think I can take credit for that. It's either his father's influence or his remarkable nature. My money is on both. I hope I have contributed a little by being candid with him. Maybe he will remember and tell me some day. I will remember and maybe I will ask. Maybe I will be too afraid. Maybe I will just have to hope forever.

My daughter...for all her stubborness and strong will, I think there is work to be done there. In my heart of hearts, I really do think she will struggle with this disorder. I pray that I am wrong. There are things that I see and can't quite explain. She's only 5 and who can say at this age. It's probably just my hyper-worry talking. But...since she was about 2, I've been reminded of the nursery rhyme about the little girl with the curl on her forehead. When she was good she was very very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid. She's evened out little, or maybe it's just that her little brother makes my heart stop now with his antics and I don't notice quite as much, but she is still either as sweet as pie, or in a snit over something. There's not much in between. Whatever the case, I'm powerless at this point. All I can do is keep a watchful eye. If the worst comes to pass, at least I will know how to help.

So, I'm a Mom for better or for ill. My children accept me and love me, no matter what. They are well behaved (in public anyway) are polite, smart and all around good kids. Whether I have anything to do with that or if it's just luck, I really don't know. One thing I do know, I am the lucky one. I'm crossing my fingers, praying, hoping and everything else, that it's all going to work out okay. Hopefully in this one instance in life, love IS enough to conquer all. Because there is no short supply on that in this family.