June 15, 2009
Z.: still cute, still not eating
Z. finished her first year of preschool today. It was hard for her and she never really settled in to school in the way I would want for her, but she loved her teachers and made some "friends" and tolerated a lot of it very well. I'm proud of her for sticking with it and doing something that was so scary and difficult for her.
For me it was a school year full of rising hopes and dashed hopes, my own mini amusement park ride throwing me vomit-inducing loops when I least expected them. I have had days where I've thought, "She really is going to do this. In another 5 years or so she will be virtually indistinguishable from the other kids. And maybe she will even go to college." And I've had a marginally lower amount of days where I've thought, "School is going to be painful and sad all the way through, and when we are finished I have no confidence at all that she will ever live apart from us." Z. is still pretty much a mystery, even to me.
Her teachers and therapists were fabulous, giving us reports of increased comfort, participation, and cognition. I would listen to them and feel happy that Z. was doing so well. Then I would peek through the window when I went to pick her up and watch her standing and staring, lost in her own little world, struggling with her backpack and jacket, shut down and unable to function. Each time I would feel a little stab of guilt and sadness. And I would wonder exactly how bad things were those first days if this was worthy of glowing progress reports.
To my amusement and dismay she became and stayed what I like to call the school's mini mascot. Everyone (and I mean everyone) knows who Z. is. At her closing program one of the moms said to me, "My second grader loves Z.! She is thrilled whenever she sees her." I had a moment of wondering why on earth her second grader had the faintest clue who Z. was and then sighed to myself because I knew why. For now I have chosen to accept and even enjoy the minor celebrity that being Z.'s mom brings. Everyone grins at us. They wave. People want to talk to Z. and tell me how sweet she is. It's uncomfortable and it's fine too, as long as they treat her with respect and don't try to pet her.
This is a crazy old weird rambling mishmash of Z. factoids which happens to be fairly representative of my feelings at the end of this school year. It was a good year and a bad year, and long year and a short year, a happy year and a sad year. In other words a year walking hand in hand with my special girl.
