Evaluation Day

Today Linc had his annual service evaluation, where all of his therapists and his case worker come and evaluate his development to determine what level of service he is eligible for in the coming year. This is our third time going through the particularly bizarre experience of answering question after question about our child and then being told with excitement that he qualifies for early intervention services for another year. So many strange emotions come up with the process. On one hand, we truly are thankful for the early intervention services because we could never afford all of these therapies on our own. And at the same time, it doesn’t quite seem right to celebrate your child qualifying for a service based on his developmental delays.

There’s a bit of weirdness, too, having that many people in your house for a non-social event. Normally when we have that many people here, we are entertaining, and the urge to play host is hard to get over. All of the therapists sit on the floor, which makes me want to constantly ask them to sit on the furniture where they will surely be more comfortable. The kids and the dog crawl over them, which makes me apologize over and over for the sticky fingers touching their laptop or the shedding mutt rubbing against their black pants. Plus, it seems like you should have to beat your kids or keep a keg by the crib to have a “case worker” in the first place.

You can get pretty worked up over the whole process if you think too hard about it. When I left work early today to make the meeting, I was going to that place in my head, that this-is-so-weird-I-can’t-believe-this-is-my-life place. Just to add another layer of discomfort to today’s evaluation, I hadn’t even met two of Lincoln’s therapists because we’ve seen a turnover of all his therapists at least once since the days when I was able to be home during the day to participate. Now, here I was coming home like the cold, absent mother who is never there when the real work of Linc’s therapy is taking place. And of course, like any mother, I torture myself with guilt about having to miss the appointments, even though I know I have to work and can’t possibly take the time off for 2 or 3 appointments a week. Yes, Sam does an amazing job with all the therapy appointments. Yes, this arrangement is better than having to rely on daycare. Still, I feel cut out of a huge portion of my family’s daily life that these women, these case workers and therapists, are privy to in my absence.

Luckily, Hammy McHam and his older brother, Hyperactive Man, would have none of the awkwardness. Linc woke from his nap just as I was getting home and everyone started arriving. I brought him downstairs, and he proceeded to charm the daylights out of the group, flirting and laughing, lifting his shirt to show off his belly and pacing around his circle of admirers like a lower level celebrity in front of a pool of paparazzi. He and Nico ran through the house playing their new favorite game, which is like tag but instead of tagging each other, you just scream real loud when you encounter the other person. The other person screams real loud right back and then you both laugh hysterically and run off to opposite sides of the room to start over again. Great fun to two small boys, if somewhat perplexing to the army of twenty-something women who seem to be the primary demographic for early intervention workers. By the end of the two and half hour ordeal, we had set new goals for Lincoln for the year ahead, looked back at how far he had come this past year, and been reminded why we take this one day at a time.

Because otherwise, we will lose our minds.