Up your nose with a rubber hose

Ugh.

So Evan's preschool teacher calls today because we need to start thinking about transition. Ev will be going to kindergarten nine months from now, but we have to begin working right now to make sure things go smoothly. I'm supposed to arrange for him to go back to Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh for yet another evaluation. He's never gotten a definite diagnosis, and now that matters, so it's time for us to go ahead and get a label stuck on whatever this is.

Once that's done, we have a choice. Ev can go to our neighboorhood school with "learning support", or he can go to another school across town with a dedicated autism classroom. His current teacher seems to think that the autism room would be the best fit for him now--that it would make the change less difficult for him. He would also go there with the hope of eventually being transitioned into a regular class. Mike and I are supposed to make appointments to look at both classes and maybe that will help us decide.

Honestly, all this does is give me a sick feeling in my stomach. I'm happy with the way things are, and this upcoming change has me a little bent out of shape. Every time we go through one of these evals, it just stirs up all those old feelings--why Evan? Why can't things just be normal? Why can't he just go to school like every other kid and have it not be an issue? Why is everything so complicated? And of course, all of our choices come into question, and we're wondering if we're doing enough to help him, if we're doing things right. There's no way to tell, short of a crystal ball that shows me an Ev in third grade and you can't tell he's any different from any other kid in his class.

This just sucks, and it's really got me down today. For every moment of pride and accomplishment, there are two more of guilt and worry.