Lemonade

I have just returned from L's Individualised Education Program meeting.  These occur each school term and involve the people responsible for L's education and development: physiotherapist, occupational therapist, speech therapist, child psychologist, individualised needs co-ordinator, school principal, teacher aide, Mummy, Daddy and 18 cupcakes made by L and I over the weekend.

For one hour, four times per year, I sit and talk about my son with a group of people who are paid to care, who lose crucial funding if they don't and give us every reason to believe that they actually, sincerely do. We leave feeling that we're not alone in our love and admiration for L or our passion for his achievement and then we get to watch as changes are made and results unfold.

This is a privilege that parents of typically developing children generally don't get to enjoy.  I don't recommend hobbling your child for the privilege - I wish this good feeling wasn't so hard earned or even necessary, but, as we say down here; I'm shining a turd.
 
It's disabled parking in December at St Luke's Shopping Centre, the bitter-sweet redundancy of child-proofing, the fail-proof excuse when you don't want to attend and the government paying you to be an at-home parent. It's lemonade from lemons.