Well OK, most likely less than that since my OB typically induces around 39 weeks. He said he'll be okay with my going to 40 if everything looks good at that point... but only if I can continue to maintain the non-diabetic blood sugars that I've been kicking butt with. Challenge is on!
Did I mention that it's after 2 am in this lovely Minday morning? Ahhhh, pregnancy induced insomnia, my new BFF. (I hate you)
As of last weekend, L~ finally knows that he's going to be a big brother. While most 6 year old kids would probably have figured it out by now (especially considering the many slip-ups of our adult friends and family!), it took three other six year olds telling him point-blank what was going on before L~ caught on. Fortunately so far there doesn't seem to be any backlash and L~ is somewhat ambivalent about his forthcoming fall from Only Child Syndrome.
So far. Unfortunately L~, for all his sweetness, is a mass of medicated issues; developmentally, emotionally, physically. He's a ticking time bomb and I'm constantly waiting for the clock to hit zero. He has no physical drive and is quite simply the first and only lazy child I've ever in my life seen. He's having troubles in school - has been since the start of kindergarten last year. He doesn't understand the assignments. He doesn't pay attention and disrupts the class and has emotional breakdowns almost daily. He's at his fourth school in two years because Mr. Right and exnonwife keep beating around the bush instead of just acting and doing something proactive. It's the teachers fault, every time. Now they are putting him back into Kindergarten with the expectation that this will finally solve all their problems.
The thing is, he needs help. He doesn't need to be held back or switched into another school again - he needs one on one every day with a qualified educator who can teach him in a way that he will understand.
Because he's 6 years old and he cannot grasp simple concepts like the difference between a square and a rectangle.
Or letters of the alphabet.
I suggested Mr. Right have an assessment done. Unfortunately after the past two and a half months of his excuses and my frustration, we've come to the conclusion that this is an area where I cannot be involved. Because in his eyes I just think there's something wrong with L~, and in my eyes Mr. Right is so determined that his child is just perfect that he's not willing to get him the help he needs to succeed.
So I wait for the next big issue; I wait for exnonwife to blame L~'s likely unsuccessful return to kindergarten on the fact that we're having a baby. (And believe me, I have every finger and toe crossed that I'm wrong and that he ends up excelling in kindergarten!) I wait for whatever medication they'll put him on next and the effect that that will have on his behavior (he's on thyroid and anti-seizure meds with the occasional steroidal inhaler or two thrown in for fun). And how that will affect our household and relationship every second weekend for the next... who even knows.
And how it's going to one day affect my child's environment.
I worry too much, I know. But there's a little tiny part of me that screams in a very loud whisper: 'I REALLY DON'T WANT A CHILD LIKE L~!!' What I mean by that is, whatever gene that caused his impairments, whatever nature or nurture that influenced his delays and laziness: please do not make friends with my child. Mr. Right is average intelligence, and exnonwife seems to manage about the same. I have a high IQ; I taught myself to read when I was 3, resisted being advanced ahead two grades in school, understood concepts that the average person would find baffling. I'm not bragging, believe me. If anything I find that my intelligence hindered my childhood and has made being an adult somewhat frustrating. It even sometimes colours my relationship with Mr. Right and my immediate family, resulting in my having to suppress feelings and thoughts in order to relate to them.
But in spite of all that, I want everything for my child, including an innate keenness and intelligence. And the physical aptitude that runs in my family, as well as Mr. Right's. I hope that our little Sea Monkey is the exact opposite of the child that lives in our house every second weekend.
Is it terrible of me to feel that way?