Reality check

Today was Bug's IEP.  She gets one now, instead of an IFSP, because now that she's (almost) three, the school district is taking over.

Let me just say, the amount of paperwork and pre-work that goes into these meetings on the behalf of the teachers and therapists and specialists is ASTOUNDING.  And Bug's case isn't even that complex, comparatively speaking.  Both Matt and I were so impressed at how much they seemed to truly understand and "get" her -- it was clear that this was not just a "fill in the blank" level of effort.  I don't know how they do this, all the time.  (Props to my sister-in-law, who is a special education teacher!)

That being said, it sucked.  I thought I'd be over it, or if not over it, at least a bit more mentally steeled.  I figured we've been through the worst of it, so why should anything now, at this point, make me upset?  But it does.  Oh, it does.

Cognition?  Not a problem.  We knew that.  Even fine motor was better than expected -- she's right around 32 months, which is only a few months behind "average."  It's gross motor where we are, well, grossly behind.  She's at a 22-month level.  More than a year behind her peers.  It shouldn't be surprising, I guess, since I see her play all the time, and I see what the other kids can do, but I guess I was surprised at the sheer magnitude.  Bug will be three years old in three more weeks, and she has the (assessable) gross motor skills of a toddler not yet two.

These kinds of meetings always make me upset deep down.  Like I imagine my liver and kidneys start to cry, first.  Maybe a vertebrae joins in.  Because someone has quantified it for you, and for that moment, you cannot ignore and live in your happy place that you exist in whenever you're between appointments. And I knew she was behind, but not that far.  In the past it's been months; never a whole year (granted, it's been a while since she was assessed this thoroughly, but still).  Gah!  Bah!  I'm an ostrich who hates taking their head out of the sand!

She will get adaptive PE services from the district (30 minutes, once a week) and PT as well.  She will also get a piddly 8 hours of OT a year, which equates to like one consult visit every month, or something.  There's not a lot of money to go around, obviously, and what there is of it seems to be reserved for kids that are much worse off (which, you know, great, because if my kid was worse off I'd want everything for them, and I'm glad she's not worse off, but she's still my kid and she still needs help and DAMMIT GIVE ME MORE which is probably what they all say, anyway).  And we'll continue our own private PT and OT on top of that, one hour each a week.

She is making progress, which is all we can ask for.

I am purging all of our baby shit this weekend.  I'm angry and I'm exhausted and I'm emotional and I'm drained and I'm done.

Here are some pictures from last week to round it all out.

She's obsessed with these "ladders" on the playground, because all the other kids do them.  This is one of those ones that starts vertical and curves flat (and high!) to the structure.  They make me want to pass out.

She is not allowed to do them on her own, because she does not possess the strength and coordination to do them without falling and breaking her face.  

So we must always be present to help her, which, you know, is terribly awkward and kills your mother-f*cking back.  I'd rather she just left them alone, but I know she needs to learn and gain strength.  It's actually one of her documented IEP goals now, to do these ladders on her own.  Sigh.

We finally ordered her prescription sunglasses now that we have her post-surgery prescription.  They are, of course, purple Ray-Bans.

And because we live in California where it's sunny every day (and we're outside every day), she wears them for hours well, you know, every day.  

These two are only two months apart, but Bug's got like 10 pounds and a solid six or seven inches on her.  The Biggest One is BFF with The Littlest One.