It’s another kid update. It’ll probably contain sap, so, you know, if you’re disappointed in my lack of sarcasm and wit, this may not be the entry for you.
The Mini is quickly coming up on age three. I tried hard to picture him beyond a year when I was pregnant and it was nearly impossible. I never would have imagined we’d be going through all of the trial and tribulations that we’re going through, but then again, who ever predicts that? We’re slowly coming to an end with Early Intervention, and have an evaluation scheduled with the Intermediate unit. Because of his language issues, I’m hoping he’ll be picked up. Rather, I will fight tooth and nail for him to be picked up. Basic testing will probably not get him services, but the fact that he can’t always process the correct answer to a question might help him to get at least something and I’ll take anything I can get. Granted, knowing him, he’ll nail everything right on the head. He tends to do better at school and out in social settings, but not always. At home, he knows what he can skate by on, and often I will ask him a question only to be either given a random answer that has nothing to do with the question, or an emphatic “NO, I DON’T WANT TO.” Translation: Woman, I don’t know the answer to your stupid question, now leave me alone to play with my cars!”
I have to admit, it’s so hard to deal with this. He has made huge leaps and bounds since starting therapy. Huge. He’s never stagnated really, but the progress is painfully slow, and it’s not often he applies it at home. I feel a lot less patient with him as of late. I have a feeling I’m going to hate three. Everything is a fight. And I feel horrible admitting this, but I mourn the fact that I have never been able to communicate with him like a typical kid. I long for that. Some days I struggle with what he grasps conceptually, but I know he has conceptual understanding of things. It’s just a matter of getting him to actually pay attention (good luck with that, oh ever) . And I feel guilty for being jealous of other people. I have to have hope for him. That one day this will all be a distant memory and he’ll be pissing me off because he took the car without asking or I’ll be cringing at the stories he’ll tell me when he’s 30, of the things he did in high school.
Every night, I go into his room, and I sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his hair and tell him how much I love him, in hopes that he hears me (because during the day, like any toddler, it goes in one ear and out the other “yeah, yeah, I love you too..whatever”). I give him a few kisses and make sure he’s covered up.
And all I can do is just keep hoping.
Meanwhile, Little Girl is just growing like a weed and flourishing. She’s recently started crawling and most of her crawling is to sit in my lap. She started babbling and the first thing she said was mamamama. At first I figured she was just babbling but there have been a few instances where I wondered. I was on the phone with my mother last week and I was telling her that I wasn’t sure, but if I wasn’t crazy, I would swear she was saying it with association, at which point, she looked right at me and said “Mama.” Due to my paranoid nature, I made a call to the Mini’s service coordinator and crazily talked with my hands because oh my god, “she’s not doing this or this, and when is she going to be doing this?” She didn’t even acknowledge my crazy, and set up an evaluation for her, without judgement. Because this is what parents with kids who have developmental delays do, they worry about subsequent children. The two women who evaluated her, were the same women that evaluated the Mini. They kind of sat down on the floor and looked at me like, “why are we here?” She of course charmed the pants off of them, flirting and doing cute things with her hands like an otter. There wasn’t much of a worry, but it was nice to have that peace of mind anyway. Hearing it from someone else makes you feel better.
It’s getting easier, now that she’s getting older. She can follow me around like a puppy dog, and play on the floor with toys by herself for a bit. Back when she was an infant, one of my best friends, who has kids the same age, had told me how easy it was getting for her now that her son was finally old enough to sit in a high chair at a restaurant and entertain himself with a spoon so they could actually have a semi-peaceful meal. And we are so there. We’ve finally arrived and it IS nice. But I am really struggling with her being my last, more than I thought. With the Mini, that pang didn’t come until he was a year or more. Because I hoped there was a chance of another.
We are done! Tubes were double and triple knotted and if I happened to get pregnant now, well, I’d have to buy a lifetime supply of marriage counseling and a part time bed in a psychiatric ward, not to mention, I’d be having words with my OB. I love my kids to death, but three would be CARAAAAAAAAAAZAY! But it still saddens me to know that there will never be another newborn, or first day, or tiny baby snuggles, or sleepless nights….. oh wait, I still have those.
But really, I understand Michelle Duggar’s addiction.