Time

I think that I need to back away from the twins books.

Unless of course, I want to burst into tears or hyperventilate. But you know what’s funny? What’s getting me is not the idea of nursing two or not sleeping (because it won’t be that different from now, actually!), or changing twenty diapers a day. It’s how it’s going to affect the kids that are already here. The big kids. Leo and Ellie. My babies.

Everyone I’ve heard from with big families (really, who has four kids these days?) has nothing but good things to say. There’s always someone to play with! We were our own little gang! With four kids, someone is bound to like someone, right? And the opposite of course, but I won’t think about THAT right now.

Still, I can’t shake the anxiety that I’ll be spread too thin, that Leo and Ellie, who are so accustomed to the spotlight, will feel resentful and hurt, when they have to share. It is what it is, and I know all of this is normal. It would be weird if I wasn’t thinking about all of this. I guess reading about “older siblings” in a twins book last night (big mistake) just kind of did me in and made me want take to my bed with a glass of merlot (don’t worry, I didn’t). I remember feeling this way when I was pregnant with Ellie too. I would look at toddler Leo and my burgeoning belly and think What Have We Done?

Probably the one thing I'm not worried about is the love. Before Ellie, when it was just Leo, I worried and wondered, how can I love someone as much I love Leo, my first baby? Now I know better. The capacity for love? It's boundless, truly. I guess that's the saving grace (well, one of them) in this crazy life.

***

Switching gears: This weekend was a babymoon of sorts. We took what was likely one of our last trips as a family of four (gulp) up to our beloved Mystic. On the way, we also met up with old friends who bestowed on us a minivan full of twin hand-me-downs. After unloading the van Sunday night, the future nursery looks like Babies R’ Us after a hurricane. I have a lot of organizing to do but seriously, I can’t thank Amy and Elizabeth enough for their generosity.

The trip to Mystic was whirlwind.

More pictures to come, but I will say that we swam in the hotel pool (Ellie’s favorite, hands down). Actually, I’m not sure what she was more excited about, the pool or her new bikini, courtesy of Grandma Jerry. It’s replaced the ballerina dresses in terms of the amount it’s taken off and put back on, just BECAUSE.

We visited with everyone’s favorite, the baby beluga (not really a baby, but no matter). We even got this book from the aquarium gift shop. Ellie made me sing it to her before bed on Sunday night and I panted all the way through).

This is my last week of work for a while. I know. I am in state of shock. Life is about to change in ways large and small. This week is a week of “lasts.” The last time I will attend a staff meeting, eat a burrito in the company cafeteria (not sure which is more momentous), sign off on a proof.

I’m ready though. I’m feeling a little unsteady on my feet as I navigate the crowded, increasingly warm streets of Manhattan (today is flip flop weather though, thank goodness, and while we’re on the subject, I waited a leetle too long and now can’t get my rings off my sausage fingers. Oy.). The nightly commute home gets more and more challenging.

And there are two little people who need more of my undivided attention.*


*(And yes, that is a two-foot tall chocolate Easter bunny.)

Be Careful What You Wish For

The stomachaches continue (for me anyway) on the topic of Leo’s new school. What seemed like a good idea at the time (having him go to the self-contained kindergarten/first/second grade at our local elementary school) has started keeping me awake at night. Is it the right decision? Will it be the right fit for Leo? Will he regress, as his current teacher fears? Will he get lost in the sea of a school that has no fewer than 500 kids and five kindergartens?

Last Friday at Leo’s Pre-K graduation I was an emotional wreck. I used to make fun of parents who cried over the sight of little four-year-old Timmy in his mortar board cap, marching along to “Pomp and Circumstance.” It seemed so absurd. It’s just Pre-K.

I still think the “Pomp and Circumstance” and mortar board wearing is a little silly but otherwise, boy do I Get It. This moving up to kindergarten thing is a big deal. They’re not our babies anymore. And I’m sorry but I think it’s a bigger deal when your kid has Down syndrome, or some kind of "special need." When you watch your little baby struggle to crawl and then sit and then walk and do all the things that the babies of the rest of the world seem to do without a care or a thought? It’s a big thing to see Leo standing there in his little cap, his Polo shirt tucked into his chinos, his little hands at his side as he prepares to lead his school in the “Pledge of Allegiance,” to kick off the graduation ceremony.

The district school placement social worker is holding my hand through this whole process. She listened to me patiently as I sobbed on the phone yesterday morning (Another thing: Can I please get through a conversation about Leo’s educational future without dissolving into a crying mess? Seriously, my eyes have been swollen for days). She assured me the new school is what is best for Leo. It’s the least restrictive environment. It’s what we have always hoped and dreamed for Leo, to be included with his typical peers as much as possible. So why am I suddenly a ridiculous ball of fear and anxiety and trepidation?

I talk big. I talk about the importance of inclusion but the truth is? I am terrified of the thought of losing the security blanket that is Leo’s present school. Without a doubt it is the most restrictive environment. All the kids have Down syndrome. There is no possibility for inclusion. But at the same time,it feels safe and warm and comforting and risk free.

The most I would ask is that Leo remain where he is for one more year, then move him up to the big bad world of a more inclusive environment next fall, when he’s six. But then I think, why wait, just because his mom is a big chicken? Because I know Leo sure isn’t. My only hesitation is that is old school doesn’t think he’s ready. They want him for one more year.

I’m a reporter both by trade and by nature. My instinct when faced with big (and sometimes not so big) decisions is to gather as much information as possible, get all the facts (and the feelings) organized and then see how things look, how they fit together. And so tomorrow I’ll go back to the potential new school to observe, this time without Leo. When I visited last week he came with me, so my time there was limited. In a few more weeks I’ll go to Leo’s old school to see the primary program where he would move to if he stayed there. We still have all summer to decide.

And in the meantime I will do my best to stop bursting into tears.

Huge, Big, Massive, Scary (and Also Potentially Good) Changes and Did I Mention I'm Not Good With Change?

I've had a post percolating in my head since Monday when I took the tour of Leo's prospective new school for next year.

His class would be a self contained kindergarten with six students, one teacher and three aides. The class joins the typical kindergarteners for gym, music, library and lunch. Depending on the student's strengths in certain subjects (i.e., math, reading) they may also pull students out to join typical peers in these subjects.

I left the visit on a high. It's a precious school nestled on a quiet, tree lined street about two miles from our house. It would be the first "real school" Leo has ever attended. Up to this point he did center-based E.I. at a well, center. His current school is housed in a church.

We passed the cafeteria where I spotted the hair netted lunch ladies when we first walked in and I swear, one whiff and I was in first grade again, wishing my parents would let me have a corn dog.

But I digress.

In addition to the good smelling food, the school has two gyms (one is sparkling brand new), a large library, and a dedicated music room. The bulletin boards were cluttered with fish and stories and busy borders and the halls buzzed (as most schools do) with noise and life and whiggling children.

I went to the school prepared to "write it off," figuring our district just wanted to save money by showing us this program (Leo presently attends school out of district but it's paid for by them, to the tune of about 35K).

Instead, I fell just a little bit in love. It felt right. Leo has the chance to really shine there but he still has the cushion of a place that will give him the extra help he unquestionably needs.

Then I attend the IEP/placement meeting and it all came crashing down.

OK I am being slightly dramatic. Basically his current teacher and principal don't think he's ready to leave. They want him to do one more year with them and then talk about moving into district. I believe they sincerely have his best interests in mind, but did I also mention that they are losing roughly half of their population next year through a combination of graduations and districts insisting on bringing kids back into district? (Note: our district is definitely NOT insisting. They have left the decision completely up to us and would let him remain where he is in a heartbeat so I don't believe there are any ulterior motives there.)

The principal's reaction, seeing my hesitation based on her and the teacher's reaction: "We're just like you. He's your baby but he's also our baby."

A bit of background on Leo's current school: It's a private school paid for by most public school districts (students come from far and wide, some facing one-hour plus bus rides), something like 99 percent of the children have Down syndrome. There are roughly 25 children in the school which is comprised of two preschool classes (ages3-5) and two primary classes (ages 5-approximately nine, though most students leave by about age seven). Leo has been in the preschool class since he was three and the original plan was that he would move to the primary class and spend one more year at that school.

But the evaluators think Leo is ready for kindergarten. His prospective teacher who we met when touring the school thinks he's a perfect fit (by the way this same prospective teacher received rave reviews by an acquaintance who's daughter was in her class). So what's my problem?

I think I'd feel a little less afraid if I knew Leo had the option of going back to his old school if for some reason the new one doesn't work out. But since so many kids are leaving they've had to lay some teachers off and have only one primary class (where Leo would go) and if Leo gives up his spot, that's it.

So I feel like we're out there dangling a little, taking a risk.

Change is scary, but I know, it is sometimes necessary and often good. And it is also a huge part of parenting. Kids move on, kids progress. It's a good thing. I think I just wish his current teacher was a little more excited about this. But I have to wonder how much of it is political and also a bit over-protective. I adore Leo's school but I also get a strong feeling that they are big fans of "Birds of a Feather..." if you know what I mean. And also? They kept saying how "their kids" do better when they spend that extra year there (transitioning between preschool and kindergarten). But who's to say Leo won't be the exception? If we've learned anything since Leo arrived it's that he surprises us almost daily, and does things when he's ready to do them. And my gut says he's ready, even though I am yes, terrified.

Oh and as if all this wasn't enough, we're moving the kids into a new daycare/aftercare. It's significantly less expensive and much closer. Thankfully it's not happening until August because if it were any sooner I think my head just might explode.