Luckily he tends to stick to one at a time.
The past few weeks, though, he has put many of them together, and that's when it becomes more obvious. Yesterday, right before his seventh birthday party, he started squatting. I thought I would faint.
There's a little shit in his class (speaking of squatting) who constantly makes fun of Stink - especially about his squatting tic. (I call it the Ass Tic cause I'm classy.)
I suppose I should be thrilled that Stink isn't too affected by this kid. After all, I practically have to drag it out of him. When he tells me about his day, and the little shit who mimics him, I ask him why he didn't tell his teacher. "I forgot!" he says merrily, before launching into some opinion about the next chapter of Harry Potter.
I often persist, "But you can go on meds if you want if the taunts ever bug you." Stink's response, "Never! I love my tics! Way more than I love the little shit!"
Of course my Sunday School goer doesn't refer to his class mate as "The Little Shit". But seriously, if you looked up this kid in the dictionary, you'd see his smiling face inserted in a big log of poo. Moving on.
I am glad that Stink is so happy with himself. But as a mother, it sometimes breaks my heart. I know I can't "cure it" per say, but I'm also disappointed that all my magnesium supplements and good food isn't making more of a difference.
I'm angry that I can't just accept this.
I am now a bit worried about Pandas.
I'm worried that his mild to medium symptoms are going to become more severe jerks and grunts.
I worry that I'm going to give Stink a complex when I'm visably irritated by his constant motions. (I try to curb that, but sometimes I can't help it. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I've screamed, "Can't you just stop that! You're driving me CRAZY!" Not okay, just saying I'm human.)
I worry that I'm doing him a disservice by not having him on medication.
I'm PISSED that I still don't have a good doctor that can guide me on this.
I'm beyond frustrated that there is no cure to this confusing disorder.
But... and here's the great thing... my son is beyond happy with who he is. He told me (and I can't make this crap up) "when I am dead I hope I am an angel with Tourettes."
I guess I'm doing okay so far. But man, I do wish those tics would settle down. More to come. (And I wish that Little Shit would go down the toilet where he belongs.)