This morning was our parent-teacher conference for the
Number Two Child. Before I go into what we learned, let's rewind a little bit. I love my Number Two. Up until I had my Number Three, Number Two was my
baby. He was cute and sweet and lovable; he got away with everything. At some point, whether it was because he was no longer the baby, or the terrible twos (which drags on into the threes, and fours, and fives and.....) or if it was just who he is, he had become quite a handful. He has always wanted to be anywhere but home. He seems fearless (which scares me to death!) and is definitely NOT a mama's boy (which is the extreme opposite of Number One, btw.) When we became pregnant with our little Number Three, I decided that preschool was not an option, but a
requirement for our Number Two. Well, preschools can be pricey, with inconvenient times and locations. My solution? Enroll him as a peer model with the school district. I got the process going and what I got was totally unexpected! We went through all these long evaluations, filled out copious amounts of paperwork, surveys, questionnaires and I even signed something about my parental rights. I was lauded for bringing my child in for testing and getting him the help he needs. Turns out, he isn't quite up to their developmental mile markers.
Um, I just wanted to get him into a preschool. My feelings about Number Two's development is that he just waits until the last second to manifest his progress. Example: if the norm is that babies start crawling between 6 -12 months, then Number Two started crawling at 12 months and one day. This is pretty much true for all of the developmental areas. Just as soon as I would start to worry, he would wake up one day and start doing whatever it was that he was supposed to be doing. I still don't believe that there is anything wrong with him. My faith in my child started to waver as I kept hearing these child psychologists and teachers tell me how wonderful I was for seeking help, and how they never know how the parents are going to react. I started worrying that there must be something terribly wrong for them to be saying these things! I might be wrong, but if you take a three year old, set him up with licensed, trained, experienced educators and wait it out, won't he overcome any delays they think he might have? What am I supposed to be worried about here? It's developmental delays, not cancer! You can't even truly test a child for learning disabilities until the second grade! I honestly believed that if he had professionals working with him, he would be able to accomplish any task they set before him.
They started him off with a trial two week preschool run. The night before he was to start I couldn't fall asleep. I woke up around 5am and cried for my little baby. At least crying in bed was better than crying at the school! He met with the teacher, an occupational therapist and a speech pathologist. It only took them about 2 days to determine he qualified not as a peer model, but as one of the "other ones" (I say that because I have no idea what they are called in reference to the peer models.)
Ok, so I was happy. He got into the preschool I wanted him to. Ok, so I was worried. Kind of. Again, I truly believed that he would be just fine, especially working with professionals. I still believe that, you know. Mornings were difficult, as I had to have Numbers One and Two to school at the same time, but they were attending two different elementary schools. Within a week, Mrs W., the preschool teacher, told me that we could use the bus service if we would like (I think it might have had something to do with him always being late.) Hmmm, tempting. She pointed out it would be free. How could I refuse that?? Ok, so now I was ecstatic. By the end of that day though, I was feeling sad. How could I let my baby ride the bus? How could I put him on the bus every morning and just hope that he would make it to school? What if there was a car accident? A hijacking? The scenarios poured through my mind. I slept horribly. What if Number Two felt abandoned and hated riding the bus? (I am a worrier. I have gray hairs, and I have had them for a long time.) The day came for Number Two to ride the bus and HE LOVED IT! Every morning he asks, just to be sure, if he gets to ride the bus today! There haven't been any accidents and there obviously haven't been any hijackings. I mean, think about it people: who would want to hijack the "short bus"? Yes, my son rides the "short bus." As a parent of a "short bus" rider, I feel that I can, in confidence, make jokes about the "short bus."
Back to the parent-teacher conference this morning: he is progressing with all the goals they have set for him, even at a faster rate than they normally see in these situations. I was relieved. But again, I always believed (except for those few moments when their comments made me doubt myself and my son) that he would be fine, especially if he was working with professionals! He still has progress to make, he still couldn't care less if he pees his pants, but by golly, he's going to be ok!
