Just a Heartbeat Away

half way

The truth is...I don't feel much like being any sort of stay-at-home mom right now. And I've realized that's why this pregnancy is so hard for me. Right before I got pregnant, I realized that I was at the end of my rope, that I was waking up each morning dreading the hours I had to fill with two demanding toddlers. I planned to go to law school at night just for the first year, then transfer to the full-time division the following year. I had an end in sight. An end to the endless days of feeling lonely and unhappy. This has been a difficult year. Having both kids home with me all day, every day has made it clear to me that I'm not meant to be a SAHM, that I don't enjoy it at this level and that I'm not very good at it either. I am so bored and so overwhelmed.

There is a cure for loneliness, of course. But, unless you have a child who is a bit different than other children, a little more challenging, a little more sensitive, a little more...everything, then you can't understand what playdates can be like for me.  I find them very hard to enjoy.  I hate having to explain that my son really didn't mean to run into your kid or knock that building over -- I don't want to have to explain him to you. I want you to accept him the way he is, even with his poor impulse control and poor motor planning. I want you to understand when he has a meltdown if you cut his pizza in tiny pieces or if he drops applesauce on his clothes. I want you to ask your kid to stop trying to hug my kid because he just can't do that...not with your kid anyway.
I know his "normal" is not your normal. I also know what it means when you tell me he has a lot of energy or that you wish you had his energy or whatever other way you tell me that you think he's just a little out of control or a little...too much. I just want you to know that I know what you're really saying.

It often feels like I'm walking around with an open wound when I leave the protection of my house. I feel the judgement of other people as they watch him navigate the world. I see them watch as he flaps his arms in excitement. I will never ask him to stop being who he is, but I am afraid of what the world will teach him.

I love this child so fierecly and so wholly that I feel like I am suffocating sometimes.

And then there is my daughter, my sweet girl who I love just as fiercely, who I worry is already getting the short end of the stick because I don't have time for music classes or art classes or making new friends with kids her age. What will she grow up to think? Will she think she wan't as important? Will she resent the hours we've spent in waiting rooms while my son has OT and PT? Will she know I love her just as much? Next year was supposed to be my year with her -- just the two of us for most of the day -- but now there will be a new baby.

I just don't know how I will do it. I know that at 20 weeks, you would expect me to have come to terms with this pregnancy. I mean, what is my problem anyway? I find myself reading infertility blogs again to force myself to feel that pain again, to torture myself with the guilt I feel for not being more grateful. But, in my darkest moments, I know my feelings have not changed. I've been worried about something being wrong with the baby, something caused by...a lack of love...kind of like people say you can die from a broken heart? Like it's going to be my scarlett letter, something that will let everyone know how I feel.

I'm half way there, but the end feels so far away.

a fertile infertile

As soon as I realized my last post was mentioned on the marvelous LFCA site, I felt really ashamed. I imagined the me of 5 years ago reading that post and cringed. I remember that reading about unplanned pregnancies while in the throes of infertility felt like a well-placed punch to the stomach, one that lingered for hours. It was something that made me question whether I was meant to have children, something that made me furious at the unfairness of it all, something that stayed with me for a long time.

There was a time when I would have put a disclaimer on that post -- one that said it might be difficult to read for certain people -- but I am so far removed from the infertility community that I just forgot. And I'm really sorry about that.

It's not that the pain of infertility disappears, but once I had my children, it felt unfair to hang on to it. I am one of the lucky ones, I know that. I have the two children I wanted. What right do I have to hold on to the devastation of infertility? But, see, it doesn't really work that way. I wish it did. I wish you could get the ending you always wished for and never think about it again. Until a few weeks ago, I think I even thought it might work that way. I never planned to have another child, never planned to take another stupid pregnancy test, worry about losing another pregnancy, or having another high-risk pregnancy.

So now I find myself doing all of those things, but in the most unusual and unexpected way and my emotions are all over the place. I would like to tell you that an unplanned pregnancy is everything an infertile every dreams of, but right now, at this time in my life, it doesn't quite feel that way. When I walked into the exam room in my OB's office, it was like a lifetime of scary ultrasounds flooded back into my head. I sat there remembering the time I learned my first pregnancy wasn't viable and the fear I've had of ultrasounds every time after and I just didn't want to be going through it again.

But I am going through it. And with me, nothing is ever quite as simple as I hope. The OB didn't turn the monitor so I could see the screen and I watched his face as he searched and searched. I could tell something wasn't quite right, but when I asked him if he could see anything, he just nodded. After a few long minutes, he located the fetal pole and seemed to visibly sigh with relief. He turned the monitor toward me so I could see the blinking heartbeat. Wow. I didn't really expect that. I stared at for a moment before he showed me why he had such a hard time locating it. My uterus is apparently being pushed into an unusual place by my right ovary which is covered in two rather large cysts."Are you having a lot of pain on your right side," he asked. I told him no, which is a lie. I don't know why I lied. I just didn't want anything to be wrong I guess. As he measured the cysts, he was explaining the danger to me and seemed to casually mention that they would need to be surgically removed in the second trimester. I sort of blinked in response because surgery? when pregnant? That doesn't seem like a good option, especially when combined with my blood-clotting issues.

I asked Dr. Google, of course, and it does appear to be a pretty routine procedure so I decided to just not think about it right now. Doesn't seem to be a point since there are no guarantees I'll even make it to the second trimester, which I don't say to be pessimistic, just realistic.

So, I guess the bottom line is that I'm still not overjoyed about being pregnant, but I really don't want to lose this baby. And that's the best I can do right now.

now this is unexpected

I've been feeling sick for weeks now. I woke up early one morning and could barely lift my head. Another sinus infection, I thought, and popped some medicine. It helped, but after a few days, I still felt...yucky. Then, a few nights ago, I was telling my husband that my stomach hurt, but not like a normal stomach ache, more like sharp shooting pains combined with a cramping feeling. It's like my ovaries hurt, I said. I can feel them throbbing. "Well," he said, "you're probably getting your period. It is time for it?" Huh, I thought. Let me think...I remember having my period over Thanksgiving...did I have it again since then? I've been lazy about keeping track because it just comes and goes. It could be every 30 days, could be every 45 days, could be every 60 days. I never really know. That's what having untreated PCOS does to you, I guess.

Later that night, as I tried to fall asleep, I started paying more attention to the cramping. Hmm...I thought...that feels familiar somehow. But I decided to ignore the thoughts creeping into my head because, come on, this is me, you know?

I woke up early the next morning and the cramping was worse and the thought of eating breakfast made me queasy.

So I did it -- I took an old pregnancy test stashed in the linen closet. I locked myself in the bathroom without a word to anyone, expecting to feel completely ridiculous for even thinking it was a possibility, expecting to feel foolish when one line appeared.

Except two lines appeared almost immediately.

Not possible, I thought. The test must have changed. Two lines must mean NOT pregnant now. I re-read the box. I stared at the test. I sat down on the bathroom floor. I cried for a second or two. I yelled to my husband to come upstairs. When he walked in the bathroom, I shoved the test at him. "This can't be right, right?" His eyes were wide. "Are you serious?" Is this real?" He immediately went out to buy more tests -- the kind that just simply say pregnant or not pregnant -- and I took another one. Pregnant.

Pregnant?

Seriously?

(Just to completely break this down, we haven't been using protection so perhaps it shouldn't be such a shock, but we haven't used protection in 8 years so, I mean, I was fairly certain it wasn't possible.)

And then I had the feeling that I thought was simply an impossible one for an infertile to have -- I. Don't. Want. To. Be. Pregnant.  I cried some more. What about law school? What about...me???? My daughter just stopped nursing a month ago. My body was finally all mine for the first time in 5 years.

It's only been 3 days since I found out. In those 3 days, I've gotten progressively more nauseous.  I've fallen asleep early. I started(!) taking pre-natal vitamins.

And I've thought about what it will feel like if I lose this baby. As it turns out, I do want this baby.
I'm sad about the possibility of putting law school school on hold for a year. I'm unhappy about sharing my body with another little creature. I'm afraid. Really, really afraid.

But, I want this to have a happy ending. I want this to end with a healthy baby, despite the lack of preparation.

Is it even realistic to think that this baby can make it without the benefit of pre-natal vitamins, progesterone suppositories, and high-tech medicine? 

Oh god, I hope so.

and.......the other shoe drops

 When my in-laws called and discovered we had not yet found a school for H, they were very unhappy. They had offered to pay for H's school and my husband said thanks, but no thanks. Because we all know money from the in-laws is never really about money. When he told me about the conversation, I wondered to myself if we should let go of our pride and accept the money. I thought that we could handle whatever the consequences were because it was the right thing to do for our son. But, they are his parents and he didn't want to take the money. It's not really just a prideful thing  -- it's a been there, done that, suffered the consequences and not gonna do it again thing. But then my mother-in-law called me directly, mother to mother, she said. She said she really wanted H to be in school, that it wouldn't be fair for him to start kindergarten after a year away from school, that he would have a disadvantage, be unprepared, suffer, suffer, suffer...and I was swayed. Thoughts of my son having a difficult time in kindergarten kept flashing through my head and my heart started to ache. When my husband got home, I told him I thought we should accept the money they were offering. I told him that his mom said "just find a good place for him and send me the bill." I told him that I told her it would be expensive, at least $600-$700/month and she said "fine, whatever it is, it is." He reluctantly agreed with me because of course I was playing the same cards with him that she played with me. Our poor son, oh woe is he who doesn't go to pre-k.

So, we decided to suck it up -- take the money and continue the school search. I called every other local school. No spots available. Then I remembered a school my old therapist had once mentioned and I decided to call. They had openings so we went to see it.

It was like walking into heaven.

The most beautiful, nature-inspired, progressive, contructivist pre-school I have ever seen. Not only did it have gorgeous classrooms, it had an art studio and a kid-size kitchen for baking projects. They went on daily nature hikes, didn't force children to sit in circle time, had quiet places in each classroom for kids who needed alone time, and had observation rooms with one-way mirrors into each classroom. It was exactly what we were looking for -- more, actually. We went back two more times to make sure our initial feelings were right. And they were.

But it was expensive...like $960/month for 3 full days expensive. My husband and I talked it over and decided to tell his parents it was $800/month and figured we would find a way to pay for the rest ourselves (hello tax refund!).

My husband called his parents to talk it over.

I know you already know where this is going...but I can't help myself.

"Wow," his mom said. "That's steep. Let me talk it over with Daddy."

We wait for two days. No phone call. My husband calls again.

"I talked it over with Daddy," she says. "We decided to pay for 2 months."

My head explodes...the end.

--

But the questions remain...there are the obvious ones, of course, like how exactly do they think we'll pay for the remaining months?

But the important questions, the ones that hurt to answer, are the hardest to process. They offered money, we refused, they offered again, we agreed. I spent hours researching schools, visiting schools, and, most importantly, talking to my son about going back to school.  What could be the point of offering us the money to pay for his school and then refusing to pay for it once we finally found one? Why make that mother-to-mother phone call telling me how much my son will suffer if he doesn't attend pre-school and then say you will only pay for two months? I mean, what kind of giant mindfuck is that? And, really, what's the motherfucking point of it all?

If the point is to make us feel like losers because we can't afford to send our son to pre-school, there's no reason to go to such trouble - we already feel that way.

We aren't going to take the money, obviously.

dazed and confused (and not in a good way)

When my son was born, I was afraid to leave the house for a few months. I did it though. We went grocery shopping and to the pediatrician and to gym class. But I was terrified every moment. I was afraid to put him out into the world because I worried about him getting sick or kidnapped or hit by a car.  I replayed these moments over and over and over. I could not stop them. When I was awake,  I would picture the police arriving at my door, or a car hitting his stroller, or turning around to discover that someone had taken him from the shopping cart.  When I was asleep, my dreams always turned into nightmares. 

Slowly, I made my way through it. Eventually I could walk down the steps without worrying about dropping him. Then I could cross the street without worrying about him being hit by a car. And then the nightmares stopped too.

I felt comfortable putting him out there in the world, trusting it to take care of him and love him and nurture him.

But, it has not taken such good care of my baby lately. And I feel myself falling back into fear, falling into that dark place where I want to keep him all to myself so he is safe and loved and appreciated. 

We toured a preschool this week - the one recommended by our school district - and it seemed to go well. My son was reluctant to enter the classroom at first. He plopped himself on the floor in the hallway and refused to go in. I went over to talk to him, I told him it was his decision, and he decided to go in. He spent about 20 minutes in the classroom, interacting with the other kids, playing with the toys, and sitting for circle time. I felt great about it. From where I was sitting, he seemed to fit in seamlessly. I felt relieved, like maybe this could all work out. I was honest with them about his sensory issues and his fine motor skill delays. They said they work with plenty of students with those issues, shouldn't be a problem.

Then I called to sign him up.

Suddenly, they weren't so sure he was a good fit. They wanted him to come in for a trial day to see how it goes. They said it would be unfair to the other students to introduce a new child mid-year who could distract the whole classroom. "Not that he definitely would, of course," she said. "We just need to be sure. I'm sure you can appreciate that." "I'm not sure I understand what you are saying," I said. "Are you saying you don't know if he can go to school there?" "Oh, oh, well, um," she stammered. "We, you know, we just need to make sure it's a good fit for him. We want to make sure it's right for him." Except I know what they are really saying because how can you judge if a child is a good fit after a few hours? He'll be in a brand new classroom full of strangers. They are setting him up to fail.

I hung up the phone and cried. I didn't get to say what I wanted to because I felt like I'd been punched in the face. They seemed so positive just the day before. I looked at my sleeping son in the backseat and the tears would not stop (here they come again...). My amazingly witty, silly, smart child has become nothing more than a diagnosis in their eyes. I want to scream and  yell, but then what? How exactly do I find a place with educators who will see ALL of him? How do I make people understand that he is worth the extra effort, that he is so much more than a child with sensory issues?

How do I put him out there in a world like this?

clearly

"Well, he clearly has sensory issues" was one of the first things my son's new OT said to me -- as if this was all so perfectly clear and understandable. I nodded my head yes while struggling to keep in tears because this is anything but clear to me. She took him through various exercises and would stop to tell me all of the problems as he worked his way through them. "Did you see the way he climbed up on that ball? Did you see how he struggled to get his balance, how his movements have no fluidity?" And, yes, I did see that, but again, no, I didn't know that wasn't normal. As it turns out, the little boy clumsiness that I always found rather charming, is not so charming after all. "Let's see how he balances on the swing," the OT says. "Let's see how he throws and catches." I want to say, "let's not" and get the hell out of there because I am overwhelmed by this. I am struggling to stay composed, to act like of course I knew all of these things were wrong, to nod my head yes every time something new is pointed out. But that's what I do. I follow them from room to room so I can watch this blissfully unaware child laugh and have fun while someone is critiquing every move he makes. She is doing her job. I know that. She will apparently be the one to help my child figure out how to feel organized in his own body.

"A hugging vest would be great for him," she mentions casually. And I stop and stare at her. "A hugging vest?," I say as I carefully keep my voice steady, "Sure, ok." We are on to the next topic, but my brain is not. A hugging vest? I know that I have seen one before, but I cannot remember where. Then I remember. During college, I worked in an after-school program for special needs kids. They used a hugging vest on this little boy who was prone to trying to make a break for it and run out the front door.  I always thought it was to make him slower so they could catch him. I remember feeling really sorry for his parents because he was so difficult to control.

I wonder if people look at me like that.

The OT is talking again and I try to focus on what she's saying. "Is he also receiving PT services?" She is the second person to ask me that and I am beginning to wonder what that means.  I push the thought away because right now, in this moment, I cannot process anything else. I am watching my son climb up a rope ladder and the OT is asking if I notice something or another. I nod my head yes, but it is clear we are not seeing the same thing. I see a little boy laughing as he climbs up a ladder. But she is seeing a little boy struggling with upper body strength and coordination.

When the session is over, I sit in the waiting room filling out paperwork while my son plays with some action figures. He is happy to be here, but I cannot push aside my wish that we were anywhere but here. "Can we come back tomorrow, Mommy?," he asks. I tell him we will be back next week. "I wish we could come everyday," he says. And I look at him and smile because I don't want to cry.

By the time we get home, my husband is home from work. "How did it go?," he asks. "Fine," I say. I cannot say more because I don't know how to explain what today has meant for me. I don't know how to tell him or anyone else how devastated I am because everyone dismisses it.  "Nothing has changed," they say. "He is still the same little boy he always has been." They act like I am overreacting. But, they weren't there through the evaluation process and they aren't with me when professionals take one look at my son and can figure out his issues within seconds. My husband gets annoyed when I talk too much about my son maybe needing special services in school. "You act like there is something really wrong with him," he tells me. "He already knows more than most of my 5th graders." Somehow, I don't find that comforting. Everyone seems to think that as long as he is smart, I should stop worrying about everything else.

I am not devastated because my son has sensory issues and delayed fine motor skills. I am devastated because I didn't get him help sooner, because I've spent years reprimanding him for things that he cannot control, because I didn't even know.

babies on the brain

I had to quit therapy last week. We were paying for it out of pocket so ... well, you know.  I've already complained enough about financial problems so I will try to restrain myself today! I am relieved, I guess, but also scared. I never once cried in my therapist's office, which tells me I am not done.  I certainly have a lot more healing to do. I barely even mentioned our fertility problems, which is ironic since they dominated my life for years.

I held my friend's new baby this weekend and, wow, I wanted one! I was overwhelmed with how sad I felt to know I'm done having babies. It's my choice, but still...I feel sad about it. I wonder if that feeling ever goes away? One of my biggest fears is that I will look back at this time in my life and regret not having more children. After all, as hard as it right now, this is a small time in my life overall. But, I feel beaten down by the responsibilities of having two and can 't imagine adding another...not to mention adding the stress of trying to have another. I just wish I really felt done, you know? I know my therapist would say the same thing she always said -- this is just your decision for right now. You can change your mind in the future. You only have to be satisfied with your decision in this moment -- which is true, although less so for the fertility challenged, you know?

the results are in

The evaluation report was emailed to me on a Friday and the meeting was set up for Monday -- giving me two full days to freak out without anyone to talk to about it. So, that's pretty much what I did. The reports were...mostly accurate, but contained a few surprises...like the fact that H's fine motor skills are significantly delayed (1st percentile to be exact), which I was floored by because, OMG this is going to sound stupid, I thought he was actually pretty advanced in that area. I literally had NO idea. He also has some less severe sensory issues, which are causing visual/spatial delays, and he's at a higher risk for ADHD, which they don't diagnose at this age. On the plus side, he's very bright, particularly his quantitative ability, which again, I didn't know. I thought his verbal skills would be his strong point, and they are fine, but it's actually his non-verbal skills that are super high. My husband has told me in the past that he was surprised by H's ability to understand numbers, particualry addition and subtraction, but I didn't really think they were unusual skills.

The final conclusion? H needs OT in a sensory gym twice a week and they want us to consider sending him to kindergarten in the fall. New York has a very late date (Decemeber 1st) so he is technically old enough to start (his bday is Nov. 25th), but I am very reluctant to send him to kindergarten at 4.5. They argued that it's better for him to be in a super structured environment that understands his needs and can cater to his difficulties. They feel like he will be better off overall going to school for a full day. I pretty much completely dismissed this idea until...

I realized we are broke and cannot afford to send him to a half day of private pre-k, much less an extended day (there are no free pre-k programs where we live). It appears that the option for next year will be no school or kindergarten. I am still hoping that we can figure out a way to send him to pre-k instead.

It is not clear to me how the OT will work or how it will help the larger issue of H being able to stay on task in the classroom, but I have decided to simply wait and see.

So back to being broke -- it appears that living above your means really does catch up to you...yes, that is a sad attempt at sarcasm. I've been a full-time SAHM for 1.5 years now and we managed quite well on one salary for one year, but in the last six months we have depleted our savings and are facing an increasingly dire financial situation. The original plan was that I would go back to work when my daughter turned two, but then I decided to apply to law school and messed up the plan in a significant way.

I don't exactly know what we are going to do. I grew up a whole different kind of poor so I have some perspective. We still have a house that we could probably sell if we have to, we have family who would be willing to help I think, my husband is planning to get a second job and I am working on getting some freelance work. I think we will be fine, but this has been a much needed rude awakening. We somehow kept living like we had two salaries and that was stupid. We brought this on ourselves and we are working toward finding a solution. In the meantime, though, I am wallowing in self pity and fighting off a fairly significant depression. It is embarrassing and it is hard to feel so useless. I take care of two kids all day everyday and have so little to show for it.

The evaluations are over and now we just wait for the report that will tell us...what?...something we don't know about our child? The last evaluation, the educational one, was tough. I had both kids with me, there was a downpour, and I felt more on edge watching the process. Up until that point, we had more or less been coasting through the process. Nothing new came up, he seemed to do well on everything, and I was feeling like the evaluators were getting an accurate portrayal of H. But, this evaluation went a bit differently. This evaluator had the habit of speaking about my son as if he couldn't understand what she was saying. As she was evaluating him, she would look at me and sort of roll her eyes in this odd exaggerated way as she said, OH! He is VERY distractable!"  I'm not even sure that's an actual word, but whatever. I intensely dislike when people talk about my son like that when he's in the room because, believe me, he will ask me about it later (his question later actually was "what does cognitive mean?).

Anyway, she was a nice woman, but she didn't seem to understand when my son was joking or just being difficult. For example, when she asked him to identify shapes, he kept saying the rectangle was a hexagon. Well, I mean, he obviously knows it's not a hexagon. He was just being silly, but I'm not sure she got that. She kept throwing around the words non-compliant and unfocused and distractable so it's not too difficult to figure where her report is leading (ADHD anyone?).

It's odd when they ask questions about things you haven't considered, like whether he can jump off a chair without holding onto something...as it turns out, he can't. He also can't jump as high as she thought he should be able to, or ride a tricycle (I tried to explain that we've haven't tried to teach him yet, but...), or get dressed by himself on a regular basis, or put his shoes on the right feet. These are things I didn't know that kids who just turned 4 are supposed to do. So, in that sense, it was one of those times when you just feel like a monumental failure as a parent because...well, I mean, have I just not been paying attention? I don't know.

It just seems to me that if there is some kind of rulebook that kids are evaluated on, it should be public knowledge so that parents have some guidelines about what their kid should be able to do. How am I supposed to know that he should be able to not only hold scissors in a particular way, but be able to cut out a square and a rectangle and color inside the lines and make an accurate stick figure? These are things I've never taught him to do. Color inside lines? I give him glue and glitter and paint and markers and let him make a mess. That's it.

I guess I sound defensive. I don't mean to. I'm just feeling overwhelmed. It seems likely we're looking at a sensory disorder diagnosis and maybe some other issues...I don't know if I'm ready to handle all of this.

Sometimes I'm not sure why I keep this thing going...my closest friends from blogland are now my friends on facebook so I can keep in touch with them that way. And yet, for whatever reason, I find myself here every so often. Keeping a secret blog is difficult in ways I didn't expect. I have to remember not to mention it on facebook or twitter. I worry about it being discovered so it doesn't provide the anonymity I hoped. I sort of understand on a logical level that nothing would actually happen if my entire family and in-laws knew about this blog(or about me), but I can't comfortably let them in like that. I wish that I could somehow delete my family from facebook,but that would be rude. I don't like all of my worlds intersecting.

Anyway, we took H for the first part of the evaluation process. We met with a psychologist and someone else. It was interesting. They watched H play independently while we answered some questions and then he worked one-on-one with the psychologist  on the IQ test. They mostly did puzzles and counting games. She was very, very good with H. She was able to get him re-focused on the task and made it seem like a lot of fun for him. I have no idea how he did, but he seemed to do really well. The tasks he was unable to do were not a surprise to me (like looking at a picture made of different shapes and re-creating it with the blocks given to him), but there were a few things he just didn't answer correctly even though he knows them (like top/bottom and front/back) so I don't know how that affects the outcome.  Well, whatever it is, it is. I don't have much fear about his educational abilities, other than the constant need to keep him on task. He's very opinionated about what he does and does not want to do and will cooperate only if interested. I imagine that can be rather tiresome for a teacher. What I was most happy to see is that they really seemed to like H. He was charming and funny and sweet -- and they recognized that even though he was also challenging at times. I was really impressed with the psychologist's ability to get him to cooperate.

I think it was very difficult for my husband to watch. He remembers taking the same test as a child and it brought back unpleasant memories for him. We struggle over the idea of H having an IEP -- my husband had one as a child because of his learning disabilities and he has a lot of reservations about it. He worries that it will make teachers treat H differently. I can't argue much since he would know (he's a teacher). But, I want H to have whatever help he needs. My husband agrees in theory; I think it's just an emotional roadblock for him.

So...I guess I won't be surprised if they find that H has some attention deficiets and some sensory issues. Next up is the occupational therapist and the education evaluation. I don't actually have any idea what the educational evaluation is since I thought it was the IQ test, but it wasn't.

We explained the appointment to H by telling him that we were meeting with a woman who was going to help us find the perfect school for him. When we got home last night and I tucked him into bed and said good night, he said to me, "Mommy, does she know the perfect school for me? A school where they will be nice?" and I swear, my heart just ached.

As we move this process and I tell people what happened at his last school, what kinds of things they said to me, I get angry all over again. It is so, so difficult to sort all of this out. I think I will be grateful that we are going through this evaluation process and that wouldn't have happened otherwise, but I am still heartbroken about H's experience. He just turned 4 and he already worries about mean teachers. As for me, well, I feel so much more fearful putting him out in the world now.

It actually hurts to love someone this much, you know?