Well… yesterday was the big day. “Evaluation Day” for the munchkin. And it went exactly like I thought it would.
He had just woken up from a nap, so he wasn’t the friendliest little guy to be around… but after he warmed up a little… he was off and running. Literally. Running from one thing to the next, and babbling, and playing, and all the while Momma was answering questions that were all too familiar.
See, there’s a process that goes along with this whole thing. A process that I am ALL too familiar with. First there’s the initial meeting, discuss what you’re options are. Whether or not you’re up for an evaluation. Then there’s the actual evaluation itself. A testing of sorts; stacking blocks, drawing lines, pretend play, problem solving, running, asking for help, and the list goes on and on and on. If they’re older, there’s cognitive recognition, and abstract thought process testing, and blah, blah, blah. Measuring where your kid is compared to the “standard” child. Then after testing, there’s the actual diagnoses. Once diagnosed, there’s a meeting to discuss goals and a treatment plan. An IFSP, Interactive Family Service Plan. Then there’s the actual therapy that happens for about a year. Then a re-evaluation, and rinse and repeat. For as long as they need it.
Gee, I kinda sound like I know what I’m talking about.
So yesterday was testing day. And the outcome was exactly what I knew it would be. So, now we go to meetings and figure out what we want. What is a realistic goal for Archer, and for us. And I cried. Because how can you not.
It’s hard. It’s frustrating. It’s not as scary as it was the first time around, but fuck all if I don’t still feel a little bit of fear. Parenting is rough enough without “extra” issues going on. I worry about how his attitude will change, he’s so happy all the time. I know the frustration ahead. I have been here before. And while yes, I get it, he’s a totally different kid… that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be frustrated. There’s a lot of work ahead of this little guy, and he’s only 2.
And so, the process begins. And I try not to pull my hair out.