But the reason I'm writing, and the reason I'm giggling, is that he just called up the stairs to let me know that I'm going to love it when I see it.
"I'm sure I will," I reply. "I always love things you do when you put so much hard work into them."
"Well, you'll also love it because it's like a rainbow, except with black and brown."
"That sounds lovely," I say, smiling to myself.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it," he responds. With exactly the right tone. I don't know where he gets these phrases, but what I really don't know is how he learns to say them with such pitch-perfect aplomb.
And it's true, besides. I don't know the half of it. I may not even know the quarter of it. Except I was right. It is lovely.
(The IEP went fine, by the way. There was the heartbreaking moment, but it was brief, and I got past it. Mostly, there were the "we're very lucky" moments, as different members of his team began to play off of one another, getting excited by the ways they could back up each others' goals. My favorite moment was when the psychologist who works with him heard about the plans the OT has to get him to access the school cafeteria's hot lunch line, which he has never once looked at, much less used. She literally squealed at one point, saying, "Ooooh, and I could..." Even the brand-new SLP, who is very possibly one of N's people from what little I've seen of him, came up with some ways to back up his social skills goals during their speech sessions. We are, indeed, very lucky. There are things that are not happening, and may never happen, which I would like to see happen...but it won't be for lack of caring or passion for my boy. Not everyone can say that.)
