Well, I gave it a good run.

Okay, it was more of a short walk, but my legs are really tired and I’ve come to the realization that I need to climb back on my horse. My Zoloft horse.

Despite my best effort, the slow, dizzying withdrawal, and the long walks on the beach with my doctor – I can finally admit with certainty that I need anti-anxiety medication. It wasn’t the first time I started crying in the middle of the grocery store that I came to this conclusion, it was the second.

A doctor once told me that it’s okay to need medicine to deal with stress, because our environment evolved faster than our brains. We’re still functioning on serotonin levels from thousands of years ago; before jobs, traffic, and kids’ schedules for which you have to hang three different calendars on the wall. Remember when all you had to worry about was hunting and gathering? Life was so much simpler then.

So, it isn’t that I have one, big overwhelming THING, it’s many, small things that make me feel like my head is going to pop off. It’s shopping, cooking, cleaning, work, kids, WEEDS, traveling, insomnia and a pile of paperwork that won’t go away despite my wishes. It’s not having time to fill the car with gas before I drive my daughter across town, it’s finding a chance to help my son prepare for his talent show, and making sure everyone has clean underwear before we leave the house.

Plus, I’m heading into my busy work season. Oh, and did I mention that we’re getting a new puppy tomorrow?

Just one, not both. I’m crazy, not stupid.

It’s time for a refill, STAT.

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“Mom, can you tell me about the autism arc again?”

“Sure, buddy. Autism is like a rainbow. There are people like you, with PDD-NOS, who are on one side of the rainbow and the more autistic behavior you have, the more you slide across the arc. The kids on the other side of the rainbow have a harder time expressing themselves and their feelings, but they understand things just like you do. In fact, even though some of them can’t talk, they are very, very smart.”

“What type of kids are in the middle of the rainbow?”

“Well, again, they understand things just like you do, but maybe they have more tics; like flapping their hands or spinning around, or maybe they have trouble talking to other people.”

“Mom, I think I’m in the middle of the rainbow.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because of my tics. And I know most people aren’t like me, because I really love your double chin.”

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After networking and learning at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop over the weekend, I came home, unpacked, put the business cards I collected into a pile, and started reading one of the three books I brought home. But, before I can really start processing everything, there are some questions lingering on the surface of my brain. I need to ask them before I can dive any deeper.

1. I worked in retail all through high school and college and even spent a couple of years on my feet every day as a lunch lady; so why, outside of pregnancy, do I only get cankles when I’m at a conference? You haven’t seen edema until you’ve seen conference feet.

2. Where is housekeeping when I really need them?

3. Why aren’t there roses and candles on my dinner table? Speaking of dinner, who’s going to make it?

4. After stalking author W. Bruce Cameron for an afternoon, why does this picture of the two of us have to show that I have a nose so large, it casts a shadow on my chin?

5. And, why does attempt #2 look like I have a floating head the size of a pumpkin?

6. Seriously?

7. Where’s my dessert?

8. Why are my pants so tight?

9. Why doesn’t the cashier at Target want my business card?

10. How can I bottle the hilarious, heartfelt stories and laughter from 350 other people, bring it home and drink from it any time?

11. Why hasn’t Phil Donahue called?

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Roughly one month ago, I took my son for his 11-year check-up with his pediatrician. Yes, he’s almost 12. Don’t judge me.

When the doctor walked into the exam room she smiled, reached out to hug me and in a booming voice asked, “Did you think we’d ever see 11?”

No. No, I didn’t.

What I also didn’t see is that we’d get this far only to to need another specialist just shy of his teen years. After slowly discontinuing to see the gastroenterologist, geneticist, and urologist, and with still-regular appointments with an ENT, opthamologist, orthodontist, and cardiologist, the last thing we ever wanted to do was add another doctor to the mix.

But, my son is what we like to call a “peanut.” He is 48″ tall and weighs 53 pounds. If we were dishonest people, he’d be getting free buffets all over town. Not long ago, a women at a salon tried to play peek-a-boo with him.

In some ways, his small stature is a good thing. It gives technology time to make progress on his necessary heart surgery, I never have to spend money on new clothes because he wears the same thing year after year, and he can still fit in my lap and snuggle up for movie night.

On the other hand, if he hits puberty and hasn’t grown enough, he never will. So after some x-rays and blood work, it has been determined that he needs to see an endocrinologist at the end of the month.

At this point, we only know there will be extensive tests and long conversations and walks on the beach with his cardiologist. He is the one doctor to rule them all. As we have before, we will put our faith in the hands of a medical team who we trust with making life-altering decisions for our little boy. No pressure, fellas.

And, in the end, it’s possible that our peanut will grow into a full-sized legume.

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