So, we are in the throngs of negotiating the waters surrounding the island known as the Preschool Program for Children with Disabilities. The very term makes me wince. I am not sure that I have really come to grips with the term "special needs" or disabilities. I'm thinking the entire thing needs a new name, like "Preschool Program for really adorable children with parent's stuck in an Amsterdam airport." Yes, it's long but makes a lot more sense.
I have spent days doing paperwork. For every question they asked, I attached a separate sheet explaining my answer. For every milestone listed, I checked "delayed." For every health problem listed, I checked "yes."
I attached 5 extra pages of data, not including more pages and a booklet on 7q11.23 duplication, and prayed someone would actually read all the data provided. (Thanks to my Dup Group buddies for helping with that!)
In the midst of doing the paperwork, I have returned to the airport and the aisle of grief. Once again I am mourning. Once again I am struggling with denial, struggling with change, struggling with wanting to have a "normal" life for my child all the while struggling with the need for professional intervention to get him where he needs to be for kindergarten. (The more I hear about kindergarten, the more worried I become.)
I was brought almost to tears one day as we played Legos in the floor for the very first time. We spent two hours building bridges, roads, and stairs for his animals and trains. I was brought to tears by the thought that our spare time was once again being whittled away. You see school won't be in place of therapy two days a week but in addition to therapy. Selfishly, I want a day each week that we can spend together as a family, and selfishly, I want a day each week where Snugglebug and I can crash, relax, and unwind. You do the math. There aren't that many days in the week or hours in the day.
I love our quiet down-times when we sit playing (a.k.a working on OT and speech homework). I have come to grips with so much of this adventure, yet just as I find bit of balance, a new ball is thrown into the mix, and I must find balance juggling even more than before. I can't even really put my emotions into words. I want things to stay the same, yet I want to embrace change. I want to accept once and for all that life for us is going to be full of challenges such as this, but it seems acceptance is outside my reach.
I'm peering at the daffodils outside the airport. I'm glad there are at least windows here, and I seem to have located a payphone to call friends and family for a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen.
If you are clueless as to what I am referring to, I advise you to read: Amsterdam International.