My boy is growing up.

Parenting is hard whether you are sick or not. Earlier on in my original diagnosis, I worried about my capacity to raise a healthy child and whether the government would step in and take him away. I have spent alot of time in hospital with mothers who had had their children removed from the home due to safety concerns or signs of neglect. It was so evident that these mothers loved their children with primal instinct. They just couldn't express it in a healthy way. As was my situation. The difference was that I completely neglected myself as I only had enough energy to feed, clothe and bathe my son. So my beautiful boy grew up with a delusional, unstable, angry and fiercely protective mother. I was alive as long as I could provide for my son. I vowed that if I ever hurt my son, I would find him safe haven and kill myself. I would not perpetrate all the terror I myself experienced as a child. I would rather die. My son is the reason why I am still here. I am so grateful for his wonderful innocence, vitality, optimism and sense of humour. He is 13 now and nearly as tall as me with his broad shoulders and large feet. He is beautiful and I am so, so, so proud of him. I love you babe. You rock!