This is one of those 'written on the spur of the moment' posts. The type I write when I've had a bit of news that effects me. When something happens that I feel strongly about.
Today I received the report on my youngest, my beautiful little A, from the Educational psychologist. It hasn't told me anything I don't already know, but it still really hurts.
To read that my son isn't hitting the targets that other children are.
That he still isn't communicating with his peers very well.
He still doesn't tell people that he has fallen, or hurt himself, or is in pain.
That he is still needing constant reassurance, because he hates not getting things right.
I know that the school is still supporting him and that preparations are in place for him to move to a smaller class in primary. I actually took him down to the little unit yesterday, just so I can start preparing him.
He is going to need extra transitional help, because he is scared. There are bigger kids down there, and this idea frightens him, thankfully with the smaller unit there will be very few.
Like I said, none of this is news to me. I know my son, and what he is capable of. So instead of dwelling on the letter, I shall focus on the positives:
He is incredibly bright, given the right motivation. He can name just about every marvel hero and villain, and is a whizz with Lego!
The little boy that couldn't talk, now communicates with the cutest American accent! (I love being called mom).
He is loving and kind. He doesn't throw tantrums, so if he kicks off, we know it's a meltdown and something is distressing him.
Basically, he is one of my sons. Which means I adore every inch of him. So today when he gets home, and if he lets me, he shall be getting an extra big cuddle.