Nervousness.
Met with my daughter’s regular teacher and resources teacher this morning (the rest of her “dream team” was out of school for various reasons) about getting her retested. She went through a pretty substantial battery of tests three years ago, and according to school system rules, it’s time for another.
Even though her resources teacher (someone separate from the classroom who helps her meet her Individual Educational Plan [IEP] goals) assures me that Emily will not have her services cut as a result of this testing, I cannot help but worry. She does better on cut and dry concrete questions than on abstract – “what” as opposed to “why” as it were. What if she has a spectacular day and tests very well? What if she’s talking up a storm and her speech therapy gets cut?
The resources teacher tells me that she doesn’t think there’s any way that can happen, which is both reassuring and saddening. Reassuring because I know in my heart that she needs the extra help and will not thrive in a regular classroom without it, and I want her to have that help. Saddening because it’s a professional saying, “there’s no way your daughter can test well enough to make people think she’s normal.”
There’s a difference between having a thought and hearing it spoken aloud. And I guess somewhere deep down, I harbor the even more secret hope that she might pass for “normal” someday. I don’t like having that hope shot down.
Any mother will tell you that it is not melodramatic to say these meetings are a knife through my heart.