Well, yesterday, in a flurry and a rush, we went to have Russell evaluated for the appropriateness of botox injections for his legs. I know you're thinking, "For his legs?" Yeah, plastic surgery took their idea from the CP kids.

They inject the muscle that is stiff with botox and it essentially makes the muscle quasi flaccid and makes it much more susceptible to physical therapy improvements, in the case of CP kids. It's not permanent -- the effects last 3-4 months. Kids have to wear braces at night to keep the muscle stretched out.

The idea that my toe-walking boy, might be a heel-to-toe walker like everyone else is astounding. I've spent more than a decade, catching him when he falls, dressing the wounds from his falls, and watching him get easily knocked down when someone brushes by him. I remember in Kindergarten he used to come home and cry because he was sure classmates had intentionally knocked him down all day. When I watched the classmates at parent-kid night, kids were brushing by as kids do, but he'd go down. His ADHD added drama to the moment, so he'd bawl and carry on every time. His teachers thought he was making it up. I didn't think he was, but I had no means of responding to that. I mean, how do you respond to that?

We've never owned a dog because a dog could knock him down and he's terrified of falling, thus, he is terrified of dogs. Fido is Russell's worst nightmare.

I feel like such a bad mother for not seeing how different he was sooner. I didn't know how he was different, just that he was, but I loved him so fiercely that I simply said that that was just the way he was. I accepted him no matter what. I had taken him to the pediatrician asking about cerebral palsy and ADHD, and had been dismissed. I just figured something was wrong with me and that we'd struggle along the best we could.

Maybe it's a throwback to my dad. He had a terrible lisp as a child, but his family understood him. In those days, speech therapy wasn't available to poor farm families, and he was a big buff farm boy, so none of the kids at school dared tease him because they knew he could kick their butts. His speech impediment was let lie until he took a speech pathology course in college and taught himself how to speak correctly.

I can't fix the past. I've talked with Russell about it. He simply has said,"You didn't know, Mom, and I'm ok now."

And when we talked about him being scared about the impending surgey, I said,"I know it's scary, but wouldn't you like the chance to walk pretty normally and like everyone else without falling all the time?" He quietly answered,"Yes." There was a conviction and dreaminess in his voice, which told volumes about how much he's yearned for that -- just to be like everyone else. I have watched the kids in games play more gently with him and be more careful of him, and I said something about that to him. He was a little embarrassed -- he, of course, knew that. He said,ruefully,"Yeah, they are trying not to hurt me."

I asked him,"Wouldn't it be cool, if they didn't have to do that any more and you could play like everyone else?"

"Definitely!"

Well, that's what the botox shots will do, babe.