The "Difficult" Child

I'm sorry, are those COLLEGE forms
you're filling out?

It was apparent from the start that Noah was going to be our difficult child.  Colic, reflux, nursing issues, he cried constantly, no clue how to newborn--oh yeah, and he had a new mom who didn't know how to mom, either.  Poor kid was just downright doomed from the beginning.  

Over the years, as you know--and I will keep it simple here, as you've been reading my blogs forever and a day, right?--we've, no, HE'S battled autism, ADHD, bullying, OCD, depression, low self esteem, anxiety and a myriad of other things that would fell even the toughest of us in most cases.  Not to mention all those times I thought for sure I've messed him up beyond recovery.

He's come out stronger for it, amazing for it--and, he's become the easy child.  I will deny that statement if ever questioned by my younger two children.  Yep, in his teenage years, Noah has become the easy child.  I get a lot of compliments about him, and honestly, he really does make teenage child rearing look super easy.  I tease him that he can't break my track record; he has 1 1/2 years until he's out of the house (because, as he likes to constantly remind me, he's 16 now), then 4 years of college (or, God help me, basic training, then wherever the military sends us, I mean, him)--keep it together, man, don't ruin this for your mom!  With all the worrying I used to do, all the begging I used to do with God, all the tears shed over this young man child of mine--I really don't have to worry about him.  For the record though, I still do.  Just not as much.  And it's entirely possible I cry more now about him than I did back then.  I mean--he's LEAVING MY NEST.

Last weekend Noah went on a youth retreat with his/our church youth group. The next morning on the way to church, we tried to talk to him about it. Getting details was like pulling teeth.  He finally told us the message was about personal identity, but he didn't feel it really applied to him.  Then our eldest broke the news:  We've done a good job of not just raising him, but of raising him up.

I may have white-knuckled the car door at this point.

"I know who I am, I'm comfortable with who I am.  I'm God's son, I'm your son.  You love me no matter what, just like God does.  I'm good with all of that.  I don't need a big speech about my personal identity because I guess you guys have done a good job with that for me."

Noah elaborated, telling us that not a day goes by I don't tell him and his brothers how grateful I am for them ("Even on the days you yell, Mom."), that he knows how much he means to us, and he knows he can do anything he wants to in life ("Even on the days you guys remind me that I can be lazy.").  He's comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with having Aspergers and know that's part of God's plan for him--because of how we've raised him.

Of course, all of this was said in true Noah fashion, completely nonchalant and "Oh yeah, by the way."

Never have I been so grateful my child couldn't see me!  Sitting up front in the car, I covered my face with one hand, choking back silent sobs, while Shawn grabbed my other hand.  Did we really do it?  Are we okay?  We've done well with this child!  Could it be?  What I've known all along, what I should have had faith enough to move mountains--Noah is going to be okay.  Noah IS okay.