We’re rapidly approaching the Mini’s third birthday, which I still can’t believe at all. He’s no longer a baby anymore. He’s a preschooler. A tall lanky little boy. He’s careening headlong into three, mind wise, which I can tell you, I already hate. Two? At start of two, he was still an angel. My compliant little boy who just took the word “no” at face value. Over the course of the year, that started to change. People are shocked when they hear the word “NO” come out of his mouth. And they look at me like, “are you going to take that from him?” And I look at them like, “do you SEE what I have to deal with all day?”
What’s bugging me more is that at three, he will no longer be eligible for services with Early Intervention, as they graduate them at age three. Truth be told, he technically doesn’t qualify for services through Early Intervention anymore, either (as it requires the child have a 25% delay in one or more areas of development), and this is something that I can say that I’m happy about, but see, there’s a loophole there, and some really fucking great service coordinators who have fought for him to stay in services based on his language idiosyncrasies. When we first started services, way back when he was 16 months old, I hoped it would be one of those things where we’d fix his delays and be on our merry way. Oh ha ha. How naïve I was back then. Anyone who has children with sensory or language issues knows that once you get over one hurdle, there is another hurdle 10 meters up ahead to jump over. And another after that, and you get the idea.
I am lucky. The Mini’s sensory issues are very mild. More sensory defensiveness with other kids, and even that he’s slowly overcoming. His language issues are getting better as well. I am now, finally, after nearly two years in services, seeing what’s actually personality, and what’s actually an issue.
Once he’s done with Early Intervention, he may possibly transition to our local district’s Intermediate Unit, but we have to start all over again. And I have to fight with them to see the gaps in his language development. Sure, he can name all of his colors and can count to 30. He recognizes his name. He recognizes his sister’s name. He can speak in clear sentences. But it’s not as clear cut as that. He doesn’t understand the why’s and the who’s of language. It’s taken him a long time to ask for things in the form of a question.
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t recognize the rock star team that was put together for him through EI. His teachers are a fabulous group of women. People that have become friends. People who sit around my table and talk about their lives. Sure, I’m friends with most of them on facebook, but I won’t get to see them on a regular basis anymore. You never want your kid to need services, but if you had to have them, you couldn’t have asked for a better group of people. It’s something I’ve been dreading for months and now here we are, mere weeks away from transition. I’m not ready. What if I don’t like his new teachers? What if they don’t love my son the way his current teachers do? What if it’s impersonal?
The next hurdle is only a few meters ahead, and I’m not sure I’m ready to jump.