Bella Miracolo

It's been six months and I am still annoyed. It takes me by surprise when I catch a glimpse of Jordan’s lower bare back as she reaches for something or assumes a downward dog pose next to me in yoga class. It's morbid curiosity. I want to look but it’s disturbing. I’m not an expert on its details because I’ve only asked to see it once, and rather reluctantly at that. But from recall and those glimpses, I know there are two rather imposing birds perched on each kidney staring at one another. In dramatic Burgues Script below, the words “bella” and “miracolo”. In Italian it means “beautiful miracle”. I am talking about Jordan's tattoo. Perhaps literally I should say tattoos because there are two of them. But I can hardly get past the fact that she has one. So it's singular for the sake of my sanity (and it makes for good use of alliteration in this sentence which also validates me as a writer).

It’s that impulsive thing; hyperactivity. The “H” in ADHD. Her nemesis and by default, mine. It is that thought that settles into her head and refuses to leave. It gets her into trouble, mostly with me. It is not a welcome guest in the life of a teenage girl who by the genetic luck of the draw was blessed with a good dose of drama anyway. Even Jordan will admit that the "H" has put her into some uncomfortable situations.

She began to discuss it at age 15, threatening to do it when she turned age 18. I just didn’t give the “H” enough credit to know that it would be ON her 18th birthday. I even pooh poohed it as a thought that would evolve over time, long after she was out of my house. It grew into a test of wills. Her father forbade it while I pleaded with her to postpone the appointment and to give it more thought. But she did it. And then it morphed into a Jerry Springer episode one lovely September afternoon. Fortunately our neighbors know us to be rather sensible folks and they have all been the victims of teenagers. The police even took my side.

I doubt Jordan gave any thought to irony or how literally the words “beautiful miracle” applied to her when she chose them. She just thinks Bella Miracolo is the first and middle name she would like to give to a daughter one day if she is fortunate enough to have one. Jordan was the result of a much wanted but difficult pregnancy. She arrived six weeks early in a life and death moment for both of us, weighing 3 pounds. We weathered six weeks in a NICU with many set-backs, six months with an apnea monitor, and countless drugs and doctor visits. I wished away her first year as we welcomed each milestone pushing past the fear of developmental delays or problems. There were none. She was even "advanced" in some of her skills. The “H” didn’t present itself until much later. But considering that she was delivered early into this world with no warning, thought or time for preparation I have to wonder: was the "H" a genetic component which prodded her to leave the nest as a survival tactic? Or was the “H” a by-product of over-stimulating buzzers, lights, IV’s, drugs and drama of the NICU?

That tattoo artist had no idea what he was literally inking on to my newly christened adult daughter’s back that day for eternity. The moment was lost on her insecure, and I am pleased to say former boyfriend who picked up the tab in a last ditch effort to keep her. To Jordan this was really about  emancipation, her declaration of adulthood. At the time I viewed this as the ultimate slap in the face. I'm coming to terms with it. I'm slightly hurt that she shared the experience with people who will fade with time. After all, I was there for the original miracle. I’m beginning to like the idea of the “bella miracolo” tattoo. The birds I could do with out. Did I mention this came with a nose ring?

The quest for Jane Lite

I have been a hero and a villain, a martyr and a victim, a disciplinarian and an enabler. And that’s sometimes all before noon. I have woken up as Dr. Jekyll and gone to bed as Mrs. Hyde. No, I do not have multiple personalities. I am the parent of Jordan, an ADHD teenager. Technically at 18 she is an adult. She reminds me every time I threaten to take her “hand held device” or her car.

All kids provide us with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows occasionally. What mother has not experienced that door slamming, name calling, high drama moment which makes her want to revoke her membership in the parent club? However kids with ADHD can bring out those feelings routinely, sometimes even hour to hour. It's a bumpier ride than most which lasts a bit longer. It begins much earlier than the teen years with impulsiveness and emotional irregularity being the underlying problems. It may be hard to separate the child from the condition when you are in the throes of it.

ADHD has equipped me with vocational skills for which I have never received compensation. I am a warrior, used to seeing heavy combat. (Fortunately there have been no casualties to report). I have flight experience as a helicopter parent who has monitored everything from homework to friendships. I am a professional athlete because no matter how hard I try to stay on the sidelines, I’m often called into the game. I am a skilled mediator/negotiator, who has bargained with my daughter every week of her life to not quit something and with God to give me the condensed version of this very long lesson. With absolutely no gymnastic training, I became her cheerleader when teachers or coaches did not give her the support she needed to succeed. I’ve also been on call as a therapist when anxiety and panic paralyzed her in the middle of the night.

As the parents of these children, we are our own worst critics. Our kids are often rejected by other "normal" kids and adults, criticized routinely and usually quite low on self esteem.  It's a problem born out of the struggles with being different. My burden like any parent is that I wear my child's heart on my sleeve. My job is to love my daughter unconditionally and to be her advocate when necessary. Journaling and sharing my thoughts are both a way to let it go and to educate others on the life of an ADHD family.

For 18 years I have been living in a chronic hyper-vigilant sentinel mode. It has warped my personality and I am on a quest for balance. So with a good dose of spirituality, the love of my family, some very dear friends with generous ears, and a good sense of humor I am off to find “Jane Lite”. It also helps to retain a good therapist and to enjoy a few glasses of wine on this journey. I hope you will enjoy the adventure with me!