“My Story… ” Monday: G. — Preschool?

(You can catch up on G‘s story right here: A Third Baby, Fighting Panic, Connecticut to Oklahoma, You’ve Got the Job, The Birth Story, 95 Degrees, She struggles to breathe, I struggle to walk., The Liquid Diet, Not Enough Oxygen, Getting Out of There, Let’s Party!, Fitting Our Lives into a Minivan, Finding a Home, Remarkably Unremarkable, The Fever and the Screaming, One Answer Leads to More Questions, Her Kidneys, You’re STILL Nursing?, Fearless at 14 Months, Youngest Child Syndrome, My Clone)

 

I’ve spoken up in support of preschool before

 

I stand by my words.

 

For A., choosing to enroll him in a very, very part-time preschool program before he even hit his third birthday– while a heart-wrenching decision– was the right one. We put tons of thought into it and weighed oodles of pros and cons. In the end, it worked. I wouldn’t go back and change that.

 

For C., preschool was critical largely for the ease with which it allowed her to have access to much-needed therapies. Born nearly four months early, she has always had ongoing needs that require some extra support. Fitting in speech, occupational therapy, and physical therapy became simplest if she was already “on site” where they were taking place.

 

Both of my children went through an incredible preschool program here in Connecticut. It is a wonderful, wonderful place.

 

I had assumed G. would go there, too.

But, you see, as I’ve told you before: G. is remarkably unremarkable. Her development has been “typical” and straight-forward. She has no special needs to speak of. This doesn’t make her superior to her siblings nor any less special. It simply makes her G. and it is who she is.

 

And it’s a whole new ballgame for us.

 

Both A. and C. got into this awesome preschool program easily enough– they had some special needs and, as a result, IEPs. And that was fine.

 

G. does not. That means her name had to go into a “lottery” to see if she would get a slot as an “integration child.”

 

Oh, I put her name in there. I filled out that application nice and early. And I attended the drawing.

 

They needed to fill three “three-year-old girl” slots. After that, they compiled the waiting list.

 

G’s name was drawn dead last.

 

I was sad, at first. I shed a few tears as I called my husband from the parking lot and gave him the news. Somehow, I guess, I had just assumed it would all work out. I had figured she’d get in and that would answer that question.

 

We, of course, were not the only ones whose child’s name was not drawn right into the class. Much chatter could be heard about “back-up plans” and “we also applied at such-and-such a school just in case…”

 

But, the thing is… we did not. We had already decided that, if G. didn’t get into the three-year-old program at this school, we weren’t going to send her elsewhere.

She goes to Moms’ Ministry group with me. She does weekly story hour with other three-year-olds. She’s in an hour of gymnastics every single week. She’s certainly learning to “get along with others.”

 

And the rest?

 

Well, we’re doing just fine.

(Better than fine, really. I’m adoring this time with my precious youngest child.)

 

So, the burning question becomes…

 

Will we send her to preschool next year? That’s the plan. After all, kindergarten is full-day here now and, to be honest, I worry that it’s just too much of a shock for those poor little five-year-olds to get thrown into that with no preschool experience whatsoever.

 

But you just never know.

 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over these seven years of parenting, it is just that…

 

You just never know.

 

 

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2 comments to “My Story… ” Monday: G. — Preschool?

  • Hehe. I might make a homeschooler out of you yet. ;)

    (You know I kid. I know you’re playing it by ear. But, one can always hope!)

  • I sometimes wonder if Gus gets the shaft for being “normal” but he didn’t go to preschool either and he won’t because we can’t afford to send him anywhere I’d want him to go. If Reese hadn’t needed the services I wouldn’t have sent him either because it was quite traumatizing for my husband and I.

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