Whirlwind

I can't believe I haven't blogged lately given all that's going on.

Sam started kindergarten. The last big transition of the season that I'd been anticipating went quite well. Sam was eager to get to school on his first day. He bounced out of bed, tore through his breakfast, gladly hauled his heavy backpack and raced down the street to ride together with his friend Adam. He was excited that he got to play on the big kid playground before going inside... And then he saw the fifth graders.

These children are clearly not bred from the same stock as my child. Some were as tall as me! Sam took no notice at first, but when it came time to line up and he saw that these giant creatures were going the same place he was, he buried his head in my side and grabbed my hand.

I'd been holding myself together really well until that point. Since he'd already been going to daycare, I wasn't figuring I'd be one of the weepy moms at the point of departure. But when he grabbed me and I asked what was wrong, he replied, "Mommy. I think I might be a little nervous." And he looked at me with really wide, worried eyes. There wasn't much time for reassurance before his teacher whisked the kids away to go inside.

That's when I welled up. When most everyone else had composed themselves, I had huge tears in my eyes, all worried that every bit of gumption my kid had been blessed with was failing him when he needed it most. Luckily, I caught a glimpse of him as he was about to go inside, and he was already three inches from another child's face, surely asking "Do you want to be my friend?" in his sweet, innocent and overly enthusiastic way (that has been known to slightly frighten less outgoing youngsters.)

He came home that day acting like a teenager, unwilling to tell us what went on and claiming that school was "boring." He's since recanted that, but does complain that "they make us WORK there." Asked what that means, he says "we have to talk to each other. And write. And read stuff." All of this is clearly standing in the way of good recess time.

Max, too, has adjusted beautifully to daycare. He's done better than I ever would have expected. Yesterday was his eighth drop-off and he didn't shed a single tear. Nary a whimper. Just a look over at me, and then a glance back at the goldfish sitting in front of him. It does make my day easier to know he likes it there.

The big news from yesterday is that Max had his early intervention evaluation and definitely qualifies for services. What I'd suspected turned out to be true. He has very low muscle tone, but thankfully, nothing neurological or cognitive that we need to deal with. He just needs some baby Pilates, apparently!

We do have to start him in physical therapy and practice quite a few new techniques at home to that build up his core strength. At 14 months old (12 gestationally) he was determined to have the gross motor skills of a seven month old, the fine motor skills of an eight month old and delayed adaptive skills. All of them stem from his low tone, so he should catch up quickly once the therapy starts. I'm actually really relieved to know that this will be easily overcome. We, of course, would love him no matter what forever and always, but I think any parent would be relieved to learn that any significant challenges will not come to fruition. At least not these challenges...

I have, unfortunately, known and heard of several people lately to lose their precious infant children. I think of these families daily, and have definitely learned a great deal about cherishing each and every day, no matter what that day might bring. I've even taken on a particular challenge to find a new way to change the world in memory of little Anna. I am determined to find a significant response to that challenge.

I suppose I should get this day underway. We all have school/work, then Max's final post-placement visit (finalization is within reach now. YAY!) and the first of the pre-marriage classes Rob and I teach at church tonight.