Have a little mercy. That’s what I want to say to the OCD Flea. Is there not at least ONE SINGLE THING?!…One single moment where you don’t have to argue, distract and fight for my son’s attention?!?!
The day started off with a win. For the first time in his life, Wesley slept past 8AM. It makes sense now. OCD is a type of anxiety disorder. Once his brain started to fully process stories and full thoughts his sleep started to get increasingly more elusive. At one point, right before diagnosis, he would wake up at various intervals through the night and be ready to start each day at 4AM. He would come in to check and see if we were still in the house. Checking. Checking. Checking again. A classic “Just Right” OCD compulsion to seek assurance and make the uncomfortable ‘not just right’ feeling go away. And so, when he was still asleep minutes before our typical school departure time I let him sleep.
Nothing was right the rest of the day. The plain blue winter coat that he claimed no longer fit him and loved the year prior is no longer wearable. The tag on the inside of a pair of shorts he wore religiously almost once a week immediately needed to be cut out. The sweet little cardboard box monster he had labored over at school wasn’t just right. The nose was too long so he had to rip it off. He had to tinker and tinker and adjust that little box monster lovingly until it felt just right. He would talk sweetly to it as if it was a real infant. We went around the house gathering a little basket for its bassinet and one of his baby blankets. At one point he felt it needed something to protect him from the floor so I offered to glue cotton balls on the bottom for little feet. Happily, he sat it back in the bassinet and eventually was able to set it aside for dinner.
The OCD Flea was right there at dinner too. He jolted up in his seat and with wide eyes claimed he’d wet himself. Paul and I knowingly looked at each other with a look that comes from months of ‘checking’ and confirming the validity of that exact claim… and trying to rationalize with the OCD Flea that it’s all a lie; a trick forcing my son to pick sides. It’s us or the OCD Flea. This time our pleading seemed to work. Then he’d joke back and forth teasing us lovingly about whether he did or not. Then he admitted, he tried to but couldn’t find any extra undergarments. Sigh.
Surely the OCD Flea would give us a break for bedtime? NO. After stories had been read, that OCD Flea came back with a vengeance. He insisted on getting the box monster. He pretended to tickle it’s the tummy. He pretended that his monster tail stung me. We laughed. Then, those sweet little six-year-old boy lips turned down and those big brown eyes looked at me sadly. We had glued those little cotton balls on the wrong side and now his little monster baby’s smile was a frown. He was heartbroken. And, I tried to convince him that we can love things just the way they are they don’t have to be just right. After trying my best not to fix it and letting my son sit with this disappointment I did what I’m sure I’m not supposed to do – I helped him fix it.
Now, our little monster baby has a new face. After pondering for a minute together about what to do, I suggested he put some fresh new paper on his face right now. And he asked if I had colored paper. “You bet I do, honey.” I dug up the best piece of red paper I could find and glued that fresh clean paper over the sad face of his NOT just right monster baby. Then, he drew the sweetest little sleepy face complete with little curled eyelashes.
Sometimes I need it to be just right for him.
Peace & Victory
JM
Defeating the OCD Flea 