Pookie is taking anxiety medication.
Pookie is five years old. I feel some vague sense of horror that my five-year-old takes anxiety medication, but there it is.
Mental health issues run in my family. There’s the story of my great-grandma, who was intensely angry about her last pregnancy and thus refused to touch her youngest or look at him for most of his first year of life, leaving her oldest daughters–young teens at the time–to mother their newborn brother while she locked herself in her room. My grandfather (the older brother of the unwanted little guy) struggled with depression as an adult, and my dad has dealt with it off-and-on over the years. My sister was depressed for a year or so recently, and I battled its shadow for several years from late-high school until about the time I had my oldest child.
This is my child who was afraid to go in water deeper than his navel last year, the child who clung to my side even in said shallow water. This year has brought an amazing transformation!
butmostlymommy 