I think I am going to puke. School? She can't go to school, can she? How will they keep track of her? I can hardly keep track of her and I only have two. What the hell will happen when an over worked teacher has twenty-two children to manage and half of them have a diagnosis of their own?
What if she decides to leave the school? Who will stop her.
I can't do it, she's NOT going.
I'll homeschool her.
Wait, I can't do that. I work. Fuck. Well, I'll unschool her. No, that's crazy, right?! Ugh, I hate this. What are my options here? I'll send her to private school. I'll sell everything we own to pay the tuition. Wait, what if the private school isn't ready for her? She isn't exactly their typical client. Why is this so hard?
What if she bites someone? Of course she is going to bite someone. Some unassuming little child will put hands on her ninja turtle and she will bite him. Then they will ask me to take her home. I'll come and get her and apologize profusely, trying desperately to make them understand that we don't bite her at home and that we have no idea why she bites, but the truth is we do. We know she communicates with hitting and biting when she is angry and overwhelmed. We know a school of five hundred kids will overwhelm her daily and we know it will be far harder on her than anyone on the receiving end of her bite. Will they understand that? Will they understand the energy she needs to expend just to get through her day?
Why can't she stay in daycare? It is so small and the kids are good to her. They accept her now. There was a transition period, for all of us, but we made it. She is safe and she is happy and I can't bear to change things.
I can't sleep. Kindergarten orientation is coming soon. I'll be bringing her to her future school to sit and be observed by her future teachers for school ready skills. She will be asked to find her name tag. She will be asked to write and colour and answer questions about a book she's been read. She will fail.
She won't know she failed. She won't care. I'll care. I'll watch the others colour and write their name and have a conversation with their teachers and I'll feel bad, and then I will feel even worse for feeling bad and then I will feel bad for that and then...you see why I drink?
She can cut, though. That kid can cut like motherfucker. I hope they ask her to cut.
What if kids look at her funny? What if kids are mean? What if kids are mean to her big sister, Grace? I don't think I could bear that. That would be too much. Grace will feel every odd look and comment deeply. How will I protect Grace?
Don't make me do this. I hate this.
Step One: Have children.
Step Two: Tell everyone without children that life is way harder and way better with children; simultaneously.
Step Three: Take said children with you everywhere, especially fancy restaurants where children would never be expected. Bonus points if children have autism, ADHD or are having a particularly bad day.
Step Four: Say no to every social invitation that doesn't include yoga pants and wine.
Step Five: Gain weight
Step Six: Allow your children to be soothed by screen time. Encourage them to love Netflix the way you do. Bond over said love.
Step Seven: Remind children that the children in China cannot wake up in the morning until they go to sleep at night.
Step Eight: Rejoice in your genius bedtime move with wine and Netflix.
Step Nine: Complain about the costs of school supplies, snowsuits, therapy fees, groceries, gas; and then spend six dollars on a pumpkin spiced latte every morning while you drive to work in your giant SUV.
Step Ten: Admit your parenting sins publically. Sit back and wait.
Grace and Kate's mom. (Shanell)