One leg is hollow, and reserved for frozen yogurt.

There was a picnic today at Bug's old preschool, and I serendipitously ran into the VT (vision therapy) teacher, and was able to ask a gazillion questions, most of which I asked a few months ago and promptly forgot the answers to.

Bug's latest assessment from her ophthalmologist now officially qualifies her for VT services, which in some ways makes the sometimes crushing weight of watching and knowing how she struggles easier to bear.  We have to make an immediate request to update her IEP so that we can get things started for this coming school year.

I was discussing some concerns with the VT woman, especially around some of the behavioral things I've mentioned on here before and how we're trying to teach her different strategies as early as possible, and she looks at me and says something to the effect of, "that's what we're here for, that's not for you to solve."  And I guess I appreciate that?  That they will work on her coping skills?  But also, it very much IS my job, and OUR job.  I obviously know that I'm not "in it alone" but I find it strange that all of these professionals find it strange that we are so invested and concerned and constantly thinking about all of this.  It makes me worry about other parents.  Especially when I'm constantly doing things like writing down email addresses of people I'm supposed to contact, not emailing them, finding the post-it three months later, and then totally forgetting who they are until a Google search reveals they are the head of such-and-such program at the school district I'm supposed to be getting Bug involved in (for the record, I still haven't sent the email).  And I'm the one that's "too on top of things."

I skipped my Bodypump class this morning at the Y, because I'm, like, BEYOND EXHAUSTED.  This was especially disappointing because this is the class I often take with a few other ex-Strides moms who I usually only see Friday mornings, and also because I am a terrible person to be around when I don't exercise.  BEYOND EXHAUSTED.

So we went to the picnic (where Bug ate: a sandwich, watermelon, a juice box, a gigantic piece of pizza, more watermelon, and a blueberry muffin before I made her stop), then we went to OT, then we went to frozen yogurt, and then we came home where I had to barricade the refrigerator so she wouldn't eat more.  She napped, then woke up and ate a string cheese and pretzels, and then we went to the beach.  Her legs no longer look like toddler legs.  They are looking like "kid" legs.  SHE IS NOT EVEN THREE AND A HALF.  What rate will she eat/grow as a teenager??

She was in such a wonderful mood all afternoon and evening.

The exact cause/date is escaping me, but in the last year, Bug has grown increasingly terrified of the ocean.  I believe it has something to do with the shock of the cold water, but when we first moved here she LOVED it, and so it has been frustrating to not be able to enjoy it with her.

This afternoon I vowed to try again, for the 34th time.

First I convinced her to step on the wet sand, although she was not impressed with me at all.

After holding her in my arms and dipping her toes into the water a few times, she relented, and stood and let the waves lap her feet.  And then all of a sudden it was, "OF COURSE I LOVE THIS, MOM. WHY ARE YOU SO LAME?"

Which, whatever, I'm fine with, because she finally TRIED IT.  The movement of the receding water against the sand is disorienting (even to me) so she didn't last terribly long, but very proud of her for doing it.  

Having your feet cleaned off and shoes put back on is never fun, especially when you don't want to leave.

These San Diego kids don't know how good they have it.

We went out to dinner as a family, which we haven't done in ages, and it was delicious, and she was as well-behaved as a three-year-old can be.  And I'm not at work tonight, so I should go to bed before midnight, but that probably won't happen, either.