And now Emily, my baby, my special baby, is going to kindergarten on tomorrow. I know I have to write about her first day of school. Let's just get my sentimental stuff out of the way already.
When I think of Emily going to kindergarten, I think of 2 things simultaneously: 1) She is sooo excited for school to start! 2) The first weeks of her life.
On Easter Sunday, a few days after Emily was born, we received news that Emily had a rare syndrome and she would be "severely mentally retarded," non-verbal, likely confined to a wheelchair, and could have a host of medical and organ complications. The pieces of our life fell like hot ashes all around us for a full week before her diagnosis changed. With her new diagnosis, doctors told us she would be "mildly to moderately mentally retarded," and maybe have "an outcome similar to someone with down syndrome." We were elated over this fantastic, new news (I can only imagine there aren't too many people that would have considered this news to be good news like we did), but after the week we had just lived, I instantly began obsessing over 4 questions I had for the doctors: Would Emily be able to a) Walk, b) Talk, c) Learn, and d) Play. I would recite those words like a mantra in my head until I finally had the courage to ask the doctor. I had to build up the nerve to ask him this because, with every ounce of my soul, I wanted him to say yes. More than anything in the world, I wanted those things for my daughter. I think of all the hopes and dreams I had for Casey when she was a baby and I was reduced to wanting just these 4 abilities for Emily. It's very emotional to remember back on now. And very humbling.
Walk, talk, learn and play. Walk? Talk? Learn? Play? The doctor said probably. Probably was a life line I hung onto for a long, long time. As she grew older, it became evident that probably was going to be certainly. (I won't rehash her entire 5-1/2 years here - It's the start of kindergarten, not an obituary. :) However, it was when she took her first steps at the age of 2, with the big brace from neck surgery on, that I knew we had another spunky girl on our hands, and school was definitely in her future.
I had thought about school early on in her life, but when I say 'thought' I really mean I made myself sick over how she would be treated (or, more likely, mis-treated) in school. A few teacher friends kept assuring me special kids are typically treated really well, even protected, most of the time, and school now is so different for special kids than what it was like when I went to school. Friends offering me another lifeline of hope. I knew one day she would go to school and it would take every once of courage and faith to send her there.
The time from when Emily was born until the age of 3, I affectionately called the Baby Bubble for us. Life was safe and I had about as much control over her environment and the people she was around as I could. A helmet on her head, 2 eye surgeries, spine surgery, kidney infections and hospitalizations were all events I could take head on amazingly enough over those 3 years. Go figure.
Her third birthday loomed ahead of me because I knew it would mark the end of the Baby Bubble and Emily would go off to pre-school. School. Where I would no longer be with her every moment and I would have to have trust that she would be treated well and taken care of. Emily started going to pre-school 4 mornings a week at the age of 3 and we haven't looked back. School has been awesome for Emily.
Actually, I've learned more about Emily being away from me in school than I may have learned had she been with me here at home the whole time. Emily has truly blossomed in the past 2-1/2 years in pre-school. Kids have treated her really well, and anyone that knows Emily knows how much she absolutely loves to be around other children.
I look back at the terrifying moments we lived of her first days and months and I look at the kid heading off to kindergarten tomorrow and I shake my head. Dear God, I am proud. And thankful. She'll never catch up to her peers in academics or cognitive abilities and that, still, is a very tough pill to swallow and one that I will have to deal with forever. Her future in school still scares me to death but I can't help but look back and only get strength and hope from the past.
We met her teacher and support team this morning and I'd like to believe they are people I would have hand picked for her had I been given the opportunity to interview and assess each one myself (wouldn't that be nice?!) :) At our meeting she had the kindergarten screening and she knew her address and 22 out of 26 letters of the alphabet. She knows her colors and how to spell and (mostly) write her name. I realize this will be as close to her peers academically as she will probably ever be at the beginning of a school year. And I literally can't type that without sobbing. But it will be okay. She'll continue to learn at her own pace and she will be wonderful.
Emily is very excited for school and I will calm down and be excited for her. In a day or two. That's how I roll. I usually build up the emotion of a situation first before I can acknowledge reality. Reality will be in the next post. Consider this one my Dear Emily letter to parallel the one I wrote to Casey the night before she went off to kindergarten. This way they each have one sappy, slobbery, emotional letter from their mom they can look back on one day and shake their heads in unison at me, hopefully amazed (and thankful) that I actually let them get on the bus for their first day of kindergarten.
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