I Complain Too Much

I know that a lot of my posts are negative. I don't write about this stuff to gain pity, I simply just want to vent. When I started this blog, I wanted it to be about whatever it was about. Daily life, simply living. Unfortunately, lately, my life has been quite stressful. I do have a very very wonderful life, full of a lot of love and fun and happiness, but for some reason, I never want to write about those things. Today is no different, did you really think it was going to be though??? I don't normally discuss my childrens' personal tribulations to a public audience, unless of course, seeking advice, or because I think it might help someone with a similar problem, but today I'm going to talk about something troubling me very much. I'm not going to be specific, to keep my son's privacy, but I'm going to try to explain it to you as best I can. I realized today that I need to take my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, near-perfect 5 year old son, to a psychiatrist. When I became a mother, I was prepared for normal child-related medical problems. Scratches, scrapes, bruises, broken bones, bumped noggins, flues, colds, chicken poxes, scarlet fevers, etc etc. But I never thought I would have to take my kid to a shrink. Never even crossed my mind. Of course I was worried that I, or at the very least, my family, would eventually corrupt him in some way, and he would have to take himself to a psych, but I never in a million years would have thought it would be a possibility at 5 years old. How do I deal with this sudden revelation? How do I explain to his teacher, to his grandparents, to my friends, that my son is in therapy? Most importantly, how do I do this without giving away his personal secrets? I, as I'm sure most mothers, want nothing less than perfection for my children. Of course I'm not stupid, and I know that its impossible for them to be perfectly healthy for their entire lives, it still bothers me when they're sick, and part of me dies when the doctor tells me he's asthmatic. It makes me feel like I've done something wrong, and makes me wonder if he would have been better off had I gone through with that adoption with that lovely couple in Ontario. Would be a tiny, super smart crazy kid who can't breath? Was there something, anything, I could have done to prevent this? I really don't know. I'm not someone who thinks about the what if's very often. I think its a really stupid way to think, and will eventually kill you. But with my kids, I can't help it. A lot of it stems from my childhood. Even though my parents are the best parents in the world, I know there is a lot of mistakes they made, that make me the little fuck up I am today. I don't care though, I'm happy with the way I am. Being a fuck up has its advantages. The fact that I'm a smart fuck up helps a lot. At least I KNOW there's something wrong with me, and can therefore watch out for the little dark passenger inside. It helps me detect fucked-upedness in others, helps me give advice to those fuck ups that need it, helps me grow and learn and blah blah blah I'm ranting about something completely off tangent and I'm sorry. I've mentioned before that I like to talk about myself, so you shouldn't be all that surprised. I don't want my child to be fucked up. My grown-up spawn - fine, but not my child. My innocent, sweet, amazing, better than the rest child. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this? How the fuck am I supposed to help him? I just want him to be happy dammit. Why can't he just be happy and care-free like all the other children? Why can't he be perfect DAMMIT?!