A Mommy Story

I was a bundle of nerves this morning, with Cordy’s evaluation looming in the distance of the afternoon. The house needed cleaning, so as to fool our visitor into thinking we’re actually a normal family who has time to keep the house clean and orderly. I spent way too much time picking out the right outfit for Cordy to wear – did I really think her outfit would make a difference?

However, little was accomplished in the morning, mostly because of a certain nine week old who has her second cold (two colds! nine weeks old!) and only wanted to be held by mommy all day long. I started to panic as I sat surrounded by heaps of clutter: DVDs haphazardly strewn around the TV, puzzle pieces perfectly lined up in a row, but blocking the hallway, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse figures stacked carefully in the back of a toy dump truck on some sort of construction sight-seeing tour. Whenever I’d scoop up a small handful of toys, Cordy would follow behind me, pulling out more. She’s good at that.

My mother showed up at lunchtime, convincing Cordy to join her for lunch in order to give me more time to clean. Finally, the house was at least decent, although still not presentable. Oh well, the evaluator would know we’re cluttered, but at least there’s no grime.

She appeared promptly at 2:30, folder and pen in hand. Cordy had been acting pretty good all day, making me worry that her act might fool the woman into thinking she was a perfectly normal child. Please be your normal self, I thought.

The evaluation ended up being mostly a paperwork session, with a little bit of observation. As soon as Cordy warmed up to the new visitor, she did act more like herself. Shrieking, climbing all over me, melting down because I wouldn’t give her more juice while answering the evaluator’s questions, galloping back and forth the length of the living room, etc. We went over what happened during her screening session, too.

Then the questions started. Of course they’re the standard questions, asked of everyone, but my paranoid mind read other meanings into them.

Does anyone in your family have vision or hearing problems? Can we blame her problems on lousy genetics?

What was her birth like? Did you drop her on her head?

What does she eat? Are you some kind of Britney Spears, stunting her development with soda in sippy cups and candy bars?

What’s your education background? Are you too dumb to raise your kid correctly?

Has she seen a dentist? Surely you can convince your child to sit still for a scary man with sharp instruments, right? No?

How much does she sleep? You really are giving her caffeine, aren’t you?

What does your pediatrician say about her physical development? You do have a doctor, right?

Can she name a friend? Or do you keep her locked up in a dark room by herself?

Has she had all of her vaccinations? Or are you one of those hippie no-vax types?

What does your family do for fun? Be honest – you really do drink soda and watch TV all day long, don’t you?

OK, so I know the evaluator wasn’t trying to say I was a bad parent in any way. They’re standard questions, necessary to get the entire picture of Cordy’s health. But I still worried that a “wrong” answer would hurt us somehow.

The result is she is being referred to the city school district for a full five-part evaluation. In our county, the Help Me Grow program ends at three years old, and the school district picks it up from there. Cordy will be three in September, and the evaluator believes that it would be wasting time to not get her into the school district evaluation as soon as possible.

While she isn’t committing to a diagnosis at this point, she does believe that Cordy has a sensory disorder of some sort, and she thinks it is likely the school district will put together an IEP for her, giving her access to the district’s preschool and free therapy. Hearing that was both crushing and a relief at the same time. No one wants to think that their child is anything but perfect, but at the same time, it’s good to know that there are people out there to help Cordy adjust to the world around her. Still, it’s hard to shake the blame game, wondering what I could have done differently to avoid this.

And all was not bad, either. Again I was told that she is very bright. (I keep coming back to that over and over again. It’s the one thing I can be proud of.) The evaluator made a point of telling me that many times gifted children show sensory integration problems. Since I’m unable to not brag about my child, we showed her pictures of Cordy putting Diet Coke cans in order when she was just over year old, and she also watched the video of Cordy counting to six (although in that clip she misses the number four) at seventeen months old. She is also amazed at how Cordy sees the world in shapes, looking at normal objects and being excited about triangles, rectangles and circles.

Before she left, the evaluator again assured me that Cordy is bright (see? I keep holding onto those words!), she has a great vocabulary, and she seems happy. The problems lie in transitions, certain self-help skills, and a long list of possible sensory issues. All of these problems are treatable, and don’t involve turning her into someone she’s not. Which is good, because I’m not wanting a good little conformist, but I do want a child who can handle hearing a vacuum cleaner or touching applesauce without turning into a screaming, frenzied beast that I am unable to console. The evaluator asked what we would like to change about Cordy’s behavior. I said I want to be able to spend a day out together and have a truly good day – the type of good day any average parent and child can have – and not just a good day for her.

And in the meantime, we go on with life as normal – drinking watered down juice in sippy cups (not soda), sorting poker chips into piles and then lining them up (why do I bother buying her toys?), and watching TV. (If Yo Gabba Gabba doesn’t launch soon, she may take over my computer to watch the video clips online all day. PR reps, I’d gladly take a DVD of that!) And for now we try to avoid her meltdown triggers, and try to comfort her as best we can through each difficult transition, looking forward to a day when we won’t need to worry about such things.