Coming out from under the bed

It should come as no shock to a reader of this blog that I am a competitive person. You read Gone With the Wind in two days? Yeah, well, I just read it in 12 hours! You got a 95 on that AP history exam? I aced it AND got extra credit! Etc. etc.

So when our on-line moms group began discussing childhood milestones and how quickly, or not, our children were hitting those milestones, I’m ashamed to admit that I was one of the worst braggarts. Ethan crawled at 5 months! Ethan got his first tooth before anyone else! Ethan can throw and catch a ball!

Karma, or God, has a sure-fire way of deflating your ego. At some point your child will have a hard time learning a new skill, or, he’ll fail to do something as well as another child. Our moms group started to drift apart specifically because we spent so much time bragging and boasting about our little darlings and not enough time supporting each other through the hard- and the truly important- trials of parenthood.

Mark and I first realized Ethan’s “quirks” weren’t quite so innocent and laughable when he started pre-school and refused to do “normal” child things. He wouldn’t finger paint, or play in the sand table. If the sand table was filled with shaving cream or something gooey he shut down completely and cried in a corner. During soccer practice he refused to touch the wet, muddy, ground with his hands. He couldn’t write any of his letters and couldn’t properly hold a crayon, much less a pencil. He switched between hands when holding a fork, playing sports, writing, or playing games. He couldn’t button his clothes, snap his pants or master Legos. These little personality traits were no longer just something that made Ethan unique. He fell behind other children in classroom progression.

Preschool helped a great deal. Falling out a tree and breaking his left arm in kindergarten did not help his fine motor control at all, though. Before falling out of the tree he was becoming more left-hand dominant. With a cast from his palm to his elbow he had to start using his right hand and basically had to start from the beginning with basic writing skills. During his first semester of first grade, in Virginia, Ethan’s teacher mentioned that he was falling behind his classmates in reading.

On our last day in Virginia his teacher handed us a note suggesting Ethan be placed back in kindergarten when we reached Colorado. She had never before mentioned that he was far enough behind to warrant holding him back a year.

Ethan started school in Colorado on January 25th. Since that day he has started receiving 45 minutes of extra reading help every day with the special education supervisor at his school. He also receives special attention in the classroom. After spring break he will be starting extra 15 minute per day classes in writing and speech therapy. Last week I met with the school principal, Ethan’s teacher, the special education supervisor, a school social worker, the school occupational therapist, and three other teachers to discuss how we could further help Ethan.

I cannot describe how gratifying and yet utterly terrifying it is to have so many education professionals sitting down to discuss your child. A lot of initials and labels were thrown out that day. We need to have Ethan tested for and officially diagnosed with Sensory Integration Disorder. He will most likely need out-of-school tutoring and occupational therapy. But the goal of that meeting, and of everyday, is not to label Ethan and put him in a nice neat little box. The goal is to help him, to help the intelligent, curious, witty little boy that is trapped inside a body that doesn’t respond quite right to the surrounding world.

I recently reconnected with one of the mothers from my old moms group. She mentioned that her child has been really struggling in school. She stopped posting to the group because she was ashamed of how “behind” her child was, and then she felt horrible for being ashamed of her own child. I wish we lived closer so I could apologize in person for being such a clueless b—ch. I also wish I could give her a hug, sit down with a hot cup of tea and discuss how we can help our darlings. This mother hasn’t been offered any of the help or support that I have. I feel ashamed for being part of the problem that drove her away from a support group she sincerely needed.

The competitive over-achiever in me wants to hide my head in shame that my child is “behind” or “special” or “needs therapy”. I cannot be that person, though, because I have to be his mommy first. He needs his mommy to understand, to help him, to love him no matter what. And, I swear by every stubborn bone in my body, I will not let my little boy down.