These are the days

First grade is essentially over. The once stiff "Speed McQueen" backpack has seen better days and is now overflowing with the treasures and debris of a year of firsts. It is being dragged behind an exhausted but brightly smiling Jack. Clutched tightly in his other hand is a plastic grocery bag containing an indistinguishable lump carefully wrapped in many layers of paper. The lump is the clay turtle he made with his art teacher after winning a special prize. It is the most beautiful lopsided grinning (yes indeedy, that turtle has an inch long smile) turtle I have ever seen.

Before we head to the car we stop in to spend some time with his kindy teacher. He adores Mrs. G and we have stopped in at least once a month since first grade started. She seems to enjoy the updates as much as he adores prowling the room to see what new additions have been made to her toy stash each month. I love to watch them chat. Today's sharing was about Saturday's Crossover Ceremony and as I listened to them I took a good long look at this amazing child of mine.

Emotions crashed through me and as always the tears threaten to rain down. I could see the wee, worried boy entering the classroom for the first time. He acted so confident but would periodically look frantically for me or quietly run to me just to touch my skirt or hand and then run back to the other children. I remembered my first "Great American Teach-In" where he wanted me to teach them all to make bows, "like you do at our shop". How proudly he helped his friends follow the directions and told them all about how he, "has worked with Mommy for years!"

Kindergarten was challenging but first grade has been a long battle for us and in my opinion we have won it. The war will be long and hard and painful I have no doubt. Academically Jack sails through beautifully. His extensive vocabulary always a shock to everyone but me, his hunger for all things scientific, his flair for art and drama, his constant desire to help his friends all overshadowed by the SPD. His impulsivity, his fine motor deficits that make handwriting sheer agony for him, the stress of not writing as much or as quickly as his friends reduces him to despair. I have been heartbroken to hear him sob how much he hates himself because he can't write like his friends. Heard his frustration because he works so hard and thinks his teacher doesn't see it, and held him as he wept when his "body makes him get in trouble". The list goes on and on.

I try to be optimistic and grateful that it isn't terminal. Lots of days though it's an act. Deep down I am bitter and angry. I feel like somehow I have cheated my child out of a normal life. Something I did, something I didn't do, was it the toxemia, was it the drama at delivery...WHAT caused this and why oh why did Jack have to be given this challenge? Didn't I pay enough dues with the treatments and miscarriages for my child to have a peaceful life? I know, counter-productive, won't change anything, there is a bigger plan, blah blah blah...

I know all this and I honestly believe it. Some days are just harder than others and today was one of them.