THE DIAGNOSIS THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

Preschool Struggles

At 2.5 years old, my son started preschool — the same private preschool I went to as a child. The teachers already knew me, and later, my younger son would also attend. That familiarity brought me comfort, but it didn’t erase how difficult the transition was for him.

It took about three months before he stopped crying at drop-off. The teachers reassured me he calmed down quickly after I left, but it was clear that his sadness came from separation. Once he settled in, he loved preschool — he was excited to go every morning, loved his teachers, and thrived in the activities.

But naps were another battle. Falling asleep in a busy classroom was nearly impossible for him. He needed someone to rub or pat his back, and even then he was usually the last to fall asleep, if he slept at all. And if he did nap at school, bedtime at home was a nightmare.

Despite the sleep struggles, his teachers often marveled at how advanced he was. He spoke in full conversations at 3, showed strong artistic skills, and had an incredible vocabulary. At the time, I thought that was normal — I didn’t realize until later, as a photographer working with many families, how uncommon it is for toddlers to be so verbal and communicative.

He was bright, but he also needed constant stimulation. If he mastered something, he was quickly bored and ready to move on. Flash cards worked well because they kept his attention, but TV shows or learning programs only held him if he was truly interested. And when he was interested? He could watch or repeat it endlessly.

His teachers also noticed his boundless energy. He struggled to sit at the table with other kids and was far more talkative than most of his peers. He loved the trampoline, the park, anything physical — and he could keep going all day. By bedtime, he still wasn’t tired. Much like when he was a baby, I dreaded evenings because it often meant an hour or more of tears, protests, and “I’m not tired!” Eventually, we started letting him stay in his room to play or read, but even then it could take hours before he finally gave in to sleep.

The Transition to Kindergarten

When he graduated preschool and moved on to public kindergarten, I was both nervous and excited. I knew he was smart and ready for the academics, but I worried about the structure. Preschool had flexibility and breaks; kindergarten meant more sitting, more focus, and more expectations.

I wasn’t a fan of his kindergarten teacher overall, but I will always appreciate that she was the first to voice what I already suspected: “You may want to have him evaluated for ADHD.” She had been teaching for years, had seen many kids like him, and her words aligned exactly with what we were experiencing at home.

The Evaluation Process

We took him to his pediatrician — who I absolutely love and trust. She never made me feel silly for asking questions or exhausted for worrying. In fact, she’s the same doctor who later caught my thyroid condition just by noticing my neck.

For ADHD, she gave us a packet of questionnaires — one for me, one for my husband, one for his grandparents, and one for his teacher. Each of us had to fill them out separately, rating how often he displayed certain behaviors.

These were standardized forms (like the Vanderbilt Assessment Scale), and they covered:

Inattention: Trouble focusing, difficulty following instructions, losing things, forgetfulness.

Hyperactivity: Fidgeting, leaving his seat, running or climbing excessively, talking nonstop.

Impulsivity: Blurting out answers, interrupting others, trouble waiting his turn.

She also observed him in visits, and spoke to him directly (I’ve always encouraged my kids to advocate for themselves, even young).

When all the results came back, the answer was clear: he checked almost every box for ADHD.

Hearing the Diagnosis

I cried when I heard it. Not because I was shocked — deep down, I already knew — but because it was official. On one hand, I felt relief. Finally, there was a name for the differences I had noticed since infancy. On the other hand, I felt overwhelmed. What did this mean for him? For me as a parent? How could I do right by him when I didn’t even know what the “right” looked like?

Parenting is always trial and error, but parenting your first child feels like the ultimate experiment. You don’t know yet what works, what doesn’t, or how to adjust — and looking back, I wish I could have done some things differently. But I also know now that growth is the whole point of parenting. We’re meant to evolve alongside our kids.

The Next Steps

The diagnosis was only the beginning. It gave us a starting point to get him the support he needed at school. That’s when I first learned about 504 Plans and IEPs — the tools schools use to help kids with ADHD succeed in the classroom. (I’ll break down the differences between those two in this post, because they confused me at first too.)

504 Plans vs. IEPs

Once my son was diagnosed, the next step was figuring out how to actually help him in school. This is where I learned about two things I had never even heard of before: 504 Plans and IEPs. At first, it was a jumble of acronyms and legal talk — but once I understood the difference, it made a lot more sense.

Here’s how I explain it now, mom-to-mom:

• 504 Plan: Think of this as accommodations. It’s about removing barriers so your child has equal access to learning. For example: more time on tests, being able to take breaks, or shortening assignments so they don’t get overwhelmed. It doesn’t change what they’re learning — it just gives them the flexibility to learn in a way that works for them.
• IEP (Individualized Education Program): This is more intensive. An IEP is for kids who need specialized instruction or services, not just accommodations. That could mean things like speech therapy, occupational therapy, counseling, or tailored teaching methods. An IEP is a whole plan with specific goals and progress tracking.

The biggest difference?

• A 504 makes the playing field fair.
• An IEP changes how the game is played.

Some kids with ADHD only need a 504. Others benefit more from an IEP, especially if ADHD is impacting learning in a big way. And here’s the tricky part: not every school pushes for what your child actually needs. Sometimes you have to advocate (loudly!) for your kid — and that was a lesson I had to learn quickly.