Page 9 of Draft Pick
Vanna nods in understanding. “Better take care of that elbow.” She resumes wiping down the kitchen countertops before grabbing her purse. Slipping her shoes on quietly, Vanna whispers, “Adeline fell asleep in her Sleeping Beauty dress. She’s bathed and insisted she set her clothes out for your special day together tomorrow. I hope it’s okay we substituted jammies for royalty.”
I smile wide, already feeling the stress of the day fade away. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I tell Vanna, and Hilary yells through the phone, “At least it’s not the same Cinderella one she’s slept in at my house five nights in a row.”
Vanna places her mouth near the speaker of my phone, responding to Hilary, “You two young people have managed to raise a beautiful little lady. I think you're warranted to bend the rules every now and then. Don’t you think?” She looks at me with sincerity in her eyes. If Vanna had it her way, every day would be a celebration. She’s family, and I’ve never once doubted that she has my daughter’s best interest at heart.
I nod, choosing to agree for now and place a kiss on her forehead. “I do. Thank you, Vanna. Get home safely.”
Making sure she gets to her car in one piece, I lock the door behind me and slip off my shoes. Hilary tells me about the beginning of the meeting with Addie’s first-grade teacher, Mrs. Sheffield, her attitude peaking, recalling the compliment sandwich they gave her. “I’m familiar with the compliment sandwich, Crew. Been there, done that. You tell the people something good, only to follow with something bad, then throw in some bogus excuse of a compliment last for good measure.” There’s pain in her voice, and I know it’s because she feels the same way I do…helpless.
Hilary and I have spent the past year doing anything and everything we can to advocate and set our daughter up for success. It can be challenging at times, given we’re co-parenting. I wish I could say we have this messy and toxic story together, but we don’t. I like to tell people that there was a moment, now six years ago, when we both let our guard down for the night and wound up in bed with a stranger.
Turns out, the one-night stand I was convinced I would regret not only gave me my favorite tiny human in the entire world, but I got a pretty kick-ass friend out of it. Hilary is cool, and nothing has ever been romantic between us, aside from that one night. Never will be, either. But we make a pretty great parent team.
I’m lucky.
However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t ever times when we both feel completely useless, without a clue what to do next.
Even for being in first grade, Addie’s test scores are all over the place. It’s horrible there’s even a focus on testing at her age, but that’s just the way the public school system operates. She’s been disrupting her classroom lessons, something her teacher has emailed Hilary and me about more times than I can count. The hyperactivity she can’t seem to regulate is now affecting her sleep. I’ve caught her up grazing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, which terrifies me because our house is two floors. I’m terrified I’ll be asleep upstairs, and she’ll open the front door or escape out the back, only for me to never know.
It’s my worst nightmare.
Most of the time, she doesn’t remember it in the morning, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to her when I could have tried harder. Fought harder to help her. I’m her dad. It’s my job to protect her.
That’s partially why my home is safeguarded like a fort, deadbolts and alarms at every given turn.
So, I’m not exactly sure what to do from here. We’re to the point where tutoring isn’t making a difference, and the after-school programs we’ve tried this year don’t enforce the level of expectations we have as parents. There isn’t much teaching or direction, leaving an open door to chaos. I’ve seen it myself and have a daughter who most certainly doesn’t act her age and tells me everything.
No part of being in those programs is in Addie’s best interest, nor has it benefited her cognitive stimulation to help balance her ADHD.
Yep.I said it, because that’s what she has. I’m not in denial, and I know schools aren’t legally allowed to diagnose, so they tiptoe around it. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll make sure she never feels out of place in this world, I can promise her that.
But at the same time, I know I’m not equipped to navigate something like this that inevitably is beginning to affect not only her schoolwork, but her everyday ability to function.
Lack of sleep in children is like releasing a bull in public.
Shit’s bound to go wrong.
I lose my shoes and grab a yellow Gatorade from the fridge before taking a seat on the couch. It feels good to sit down. I put the phone on speaker and set it beside me while Hilary continues. She’s stressed and needs to vent. I rest my head on the support of the sectional and bring the Gatorade to my lips. The moment Hilary says, “They recommended we talk to someone,” I freeze.
“We’ve already done that, Hil. All the child-play psychiatrists just want to medicate her. She’s not ready for that.”
“She’snot ready, or you aren’t?” Hilary counters, heavy emphasis on the she. “It’s been a year since we’ve had her re-evaluated, Crew. Our girl is struggling, and as much as the idea of medication scares me, too, I want what’s best for Addie. If that’s meds, then so be it.”
Shit.I want that, too. I really do. I just…all of this back-and-forth has really made me bothered by the medical field. They push meds because they don’t want to actuallytryother ways around it. But I’m terrified of doing wrong by her, no matter how much I know it will probably help her.
The stress is fucking with my head. “I know. I know. I want that, too. I’m just afraid to do the wrong thing, you know?”
A soft hum tells me Hilary understands. “I do. But the least we could do is just see what her pediatrician has to say. I don’t think there’s much harm in trying, especially since we’ve spent the last year doing everything else to set her up for success. There comes a point where we can’t do it on our own anymore.”
She’s right. I know it. Call it the competitive side of me burning a hole through my prideful flesh, but I don’t want to be labeled a quitter. I want to be steadfast and exhaust all possible options before settling. Then, if what Addie needs to really help her is medication, we go for it.
I exhale, running a heavy hand across my forehead. “Okay. Schedule the appointment, and I’ll be there. But I’m gonna have a lot of questions, Hil, and I don’t wanna hear a damn word about it.”
Her laugh fills my ear. “I would expect nothing less. And…I actually already scheduled it. Don’t kill me,” she pleads. “I was counting on you being on board.”
Of course she did. “And I have the nerve to question where Addie gets her tenacity from.” I chuckle.
“Well, both of us, of course.”
