I will tell you that the first day she took it I watched her like a hawk for any signs of strange side effects. I think I might have been waiting for her to sprout wings or perhaps vote democratic. Neither happened, thank goodness. We had some minor appetite loss around lunch time, but she more than made up for that in snack and dinner.

What amazed me the most was to watch her outwardly manage her impulsivity. The best examples came in her language. We’d be in the middle of some kind of family activity full of hustling and bustling and just as she was about to pop off with some random thought that would have normally gone directly from her brain to her tongue and out her mouth with no filter – she stopped herself. A few times she actually said, “Wait. Oh. Never mind.”

The first time it happened I think she surprised herself. She got this look on her face like, “Whoa. Did I say that? No? Huh.” I just smiled and hugged her.

What was weird was how calm she really was. We had to get used to the fact that she wasn’t bouncing off the walls like she normally does. “Normal” now has a new definition – one closer to the way it should be. My dad remarked (and was really concerned) that she seemed sedated. I can understand why he thought that – for seven years she’s been a ball of spitfire, energy and constant motion. We’ve come to know her like that. But what we’ve come to know now is a little girl who still is cute and sweet and smart – but is also a bit more in control.

She’s not as anxious. She hears and listens. She proactively thinks a few (not many, but a few) steps ahead. The noise in her head is quieter. Now she can focus on things like her math tutoring – and as she succeeds she feels better about herself and actually ASKS to do her work. SHE’s reminding US.

I know there are many who believe medication is a terrible answer. There are many who look at me like I’m insane that we’ve made this decision. I don’t care. Not one bit. Everyone gets to parent their children as they see fit, but I love her way too much to let her struggle when she doesn’t have to. And I’m just glad to have my Swimmy back.

After a long discussion with the pediatrician about what my understandings and expectations of the available medication are, one was chosen. I was happy to see that the nurse practitioner who specializes in following the kids with this issue was knowledgeable and thorough in her questioning of Swimmy’s eating, sleeping, health and social habits.

I was very clear with the pediatrician on the phone a few days earlier that under NO circumstances is there to be any use of the words “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder”, “ADHD” or anything related to this issue in front of her right now. If we have to we will speak in pig latin to keep this away from her. There is no need for a seven year old to know anything more than we went to see a special doctor, played some games and answered some questions and checked to see if she had a “race car brain”.

She has a race car brain. She also knows that sometimes her thoughts get a little jumbled in her head and sometimes she says things she doesn’t really mean to say. She also forgets some stuff and gets a little confused about lists of things. That’s it. This is all she knows.

I don’t want the label for her right now. I don’t want her to start thinking she “has” something. That is no way for a seven year old to define herself. She should define herself an awesome reader. A great dancer. A sweet sister. A good friend. The Swimmy.

For the record, she is taking Focalin XR. I chose this for the long-acting effects and minimal side effects. I was very clear that whatever she was going to take was to be the lowest, most conservative dose. And, most importantly, I didn’t want her to lose her “spark”.

Unlike media reports, I am a strong believer in medication for this. This is not a behavioral disorder. It is brain-based. And because of that there needs to be a chemical component to this to make up for the biological deficiency. No different from the Lithium a bi-polar patient needs – this is but one of a few therapies that will help her be successful.

She will also always be on some sort of drug therapy. I will make sure of that. This disorder cannot be outgrown, but it can be managed well and medication is key to that. I see people who’ve refused to take the really effective medications available for this and their life is a mess. No life should be that complicated or that hard. This is not a crutch out of weakness – it is a necessity no different than wearing your glasses if you have bad eyesight.

We will also work with her in a social skills group for kids her age so that she can sharpen her toolkit on interpersonal relationships. Often times kids with ADD/ADHD need some help understanding that there are TWO people in a friendship and that other person has feelings and interests different than their own.

(Actually, there are some “normal” adults I’d like to send to that group in the hopes they would become less asshat and more human.)

It’s been a long road getting here. And there’s a long road ahead. Along the way there will be challenges I know about and can anticipate and some about which I have no idea. But I know where I want it to end – a happy, healthy, well-adjusted woman who can make good decisions (not just easy ones), recognize an unhealthy person or relationship — and create and participate in a healthy relationship.

But for now I’d be happy if she hangs up her wet towel after she bathes. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

In two weeks we will get the doctor’s professional opinion and recommendations. She will either be labeled or she won’t.

There’s a part of me that wants to hear the label because it means we can define all the issues we’ve been seeing these past six months. And that means there would be a plan. A focus. Some answers. But the other side of that is recognizing she actually has a little part of her that is broken. And that makes me sad.

As a parent you wish for your children a life that is pure and loving and free of challenges (aside from the ones you put in front of them). You look at the little girl wrapped in a soft pink blanket laid on your chest and you don’t see group socialization classes, medication and routines followed religiously.

My daughter is sweet and kind and bright. She is a vivacious introvert and loves to dance. She loves fairies and butterflies, her family and any animal she can think of. She loves to swing and play and laugh. She is scared of bugs but not of being on stage. She is sassy and silly and wonderful and I swear she floats when she walks. She is all of these things wrapped up in a soft and sparkly pink ribbon.

I am scared she will lose some of these things. I am scared that she will think she is broken. I am fearful that she won’t understand “different” isn’t the same thing as “bad”. But really? I want her life to get easier so that she can enjoy it. I want her to have the skills to be a good friend and a strong girl. I want her to have the structure to make good decisions – not just easy ones.

It’s been a long walk to get where we are right now – standing at proverbial fork in the road. And tomorrow we will take one more step before we know which way to turn. So, G-d, if I could just get my foot to feel a little less heavy, I’d appreciate it.