April 24, 2023
Describing the experience of raising a child with ADD to someone who hasn’t lived it can be incredibly challenging. “Oh, my daughter takes forever to put on her shoes too! That doesn’t mean she has ADD; it’s just how kids are,” a friend might say. What they fail to comprehend is that when I say “forever,” I mean it literally. I could instruct my daughter to put on her shoes and socks and return after three years to find her still sitting in the same spot, likely mesmerized by the view outside, her little feet still bare. Her final thought wouldn’t be, “I wish I had a drink of water.” It would probably be, “Wow! Look at that fluffy cloud!”
“She zones out during her soccer games as well,” another friend might share. “She spends half the time picking flowers in the field.” But how many parents have expressed concern about my child startling their kids while playing “Lion’s gonna getcha!” in the field? And that’s when I’m not rescuing her from the tree in the backyard every time it’s her turn to kick the ball.
Reaching this understanding — why she can craft a beautiful story but freezes at the sight of a simple math equation — has been one of the most overwhelming and anxiety-inducing experiences of my life. It all began when I enrolled her in preschool at just 18 months.
“Have you noticed that Mia tends to…zone out a lot?” her teacher inquired one day. “She just kind of disappears, and it takes some effort to bring her back?”
“Ummm, yes?” I replied, pretending to have noticed. Acknowledging that my child frequently took mental “vacations” felt like a failure as a parent.
At the time, I was juggling a 1-year-old, a 5-month-old, and just discovered I was pregnant with baby No. 3. Each night, as I tucked them into bed, I was astonished that I had managed to keep them all safe. I already harbored guilt about not being the perfect parent, and my daughter’s teacher’s observations sent me into a spiral of self-doubt.
As a good parent, I internalized the concern. I had no clue what “it” was, but I convinced myself that “it” was significant, troubling, and undoubtedly my fault.
“It” was due to my lack of one-on-one time with her. It was because I fed her store-bought baby food instead of homemade organic puree. It was because I sipped wine at a wedding while pregnant. It was because, post-birth, I resorted to cartoons for a moment of peace during work calls.
“Let’s keep an eye on it,” her teacher suggested. “It’s probably nothing.” But “it” was something.
“We’re puzzled by Mia,” her teachers would begin, seemingly rehearsed. “Some days she comes in and is fully engaged, while on others, she seems lost. She doesn’t know where to put her coat, and during lessons, she looks at us as if we’re speaking a foreign language.” Then they would pause, “But wow, her creativity is remarkable! Look at this drawing!”
The spring before kindergarten, her teachers recommended a screening. I wasn’t sure what for, and neither were they. After a three-hour evaluation, I sat behind a curtain, overhearing comments like “above average,” “fine,” and “unnecessary.” I left with a slip that said “within normal range,” feeling embarrassed, as if I had concocted a problem. Everything seemed fine — except for me.
I was relieved until kindergarten began, and soon after, I received a letter: “Based on assessments and recommendations, your child is eligible for additional services…” The world felt like it was spinning, and my stomach dropped. I preferred the days of believing I was merely overreacting. Thus began the emotional roller coaster that would characterize the next two years.
This roller coaster is a whirlwind of feeling like a failure when a letter arrives detailing that my 5-year-old qualifies for special math and writing assistance. It’s feeling like a lunatic when I bring in a girl who aces all the tests. It’s the panic that arises when teachers repeatedly express “major concerns about her attention.” It’s the shame when the school counselor insists she’s “fine; let her be 6.” It’s the days when she breezes through homework, then sobs in frustration the next day. It’s friends insisting all kids behave similarly, making me want to bash my head against the wall. It’s reading alarming tales of children whose self-esteem issues lead to substance abuse and poor choices. It’s horror stories of parents who medicated their children, causing them to lose their spark.
To be honest, it wasn’t clear to me that ADD was part of the equation until her first-grade teacher mentioned the term “attention.” Suddenly, everything clicked, and I dove into research. Until that moment, I had only associated ADD with hyperactive boys. I learned that the symptoms manifest differently in girls, and the descriptions in the books were eerily familiar — daydreaming, struggles with math and spelling, and difficulty reading social cues, all while being overly silly and imaginative.
In a perfect world, Mia would spend her days in what we affectionately call “Mia Land,” lost in fantasies of fairies and ice cream flavors. However, reality dictates that she will need to navigate the world independently someday, which requires a foundational grasp of basic math.
Unfortunately, Mia Land doesn’t translate well to the classroom. Just over a year ago, my typically vibrant daughter came home in tears. “I don’t understand what’s happening at school,” she cried. “My teacher thinks it’s because I’m not paying attention, but I am! It’s just that my brain interrupts her.”
At that moment, I realized that she was the one I needed to listen to all along.
We began weekly math and spelling tutoring with a fantastic woman who understands Mia’s unique way of learning. We eliminated most dyes, sugars, and established an early bedtime. She now sits in the front row, and her teacher discreetly helps her refocus without making it a spectacle. We consulted a child psychiatrist specializing in ADD for a formal evaluation and diagnosis, and we now meet monthly. This year, we also started her on medication.
As I handed her the first pill, my hands trembled. Moments later, I was checking her pupils. “How do you feel? Are you seeing spots or having difficulty breathing?” I fretted, pulling back her lips every thirty seconds to check for bleeding.
Like many parents, I feared that medication would change her, dim her brilliance, and make her — gasp — ordinary. But she has changed. We’re still learning and not entirely there yet, but we’re in a great place. She can now channel those creative thoughts that used to drift aimlessly into organized ideas. Her room is filled with “Invention Journals” showcasing sketches of prototypes. She has written and illustrated multiple books and creates board games from recycled materials. While she still doesn’t love math, she excels in school and no longer requires special services.
Her “Sparkly Brain” has become a cherished member of our family, and we adore it. It brings us laughter and frustration, and someday, she will harness it to make a difference in the world.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I sat at the dining room table post-dinner.
“She’s going to be just fine,” he reassured me. “I was a bluebird, you know.”
“What’s a bluebird?”
“The ‘special’ reading group,” he replied, using air quotes. “I couldn’t read until med school. Honestly, I think I have ADD, so she probably inherited it from me.”
“Wow,” I exclaimed, slapping the table. It all clicked into place. “You’re right! But that would’ve been helpful information, like three years ago when I was convinced I was ruining our child!”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he replied casually, taking a sip of wine. “I just didn’t think about it until now.”
“Shhh,” I said, patting his hand. “It’s fine. Just take a trip back to Nick Land. I hear it’s lovely there.”
In conclusion, parenting a child with ADD is a beautifully chaotic journey filled with challenges and triumphs. It requires understanding, patience, and a willingness to adapt to your child’s unique needs. Resources like this fertility guide can provide valuable insights, and for those considering alternative methods, check out this home insemination kit that may help in your parenting journey. Additionally, I recommend this fertility journey for further insights.