From my other journal, dated July 30, 2002

Trent's speech therapist is coming over tomorrow morning to have me sign the papers that will give her the summer off. Several weeks late, I might add. That may sound bitchy, but after what we've been through with these people I think I'm entitled to be a tad bitchy.

The pediatrician scared the shit out of us by telling us Trent "was behind, but thanks to the nice folks at the health dept. we could find out just how late".

Everything just kind of went downhill from there.

In the meantime, my son, whom they claim is challenged, is doing things developmentally disabled children can not (or just don't), do. Today he nodded yes. I tested him to see if he was responding or just bobbing his head up and down to have something to do and he responded again, showing me that he is not only able to understand what I'm saying, but respond appropriately.

As I told Larry, they can kiss my slightly behind because he's a preemie, but otherwise very bright son's little pink ass.

And mine too.

If we get an "all clear" from the child psychiatrist the health dept has one less child in their system and they want to keep as many kids in their care as possible to maintain their funding.

If that's all that's going on they'll be very disappointed when they have one less in a few weeks, because I'm more inclined to accept the opinion of a person who has nothing to gain in convincing me my child is disabled. I will cut them off at the knees where Trent is concerned.

This is the part of the entry where my exhausted mind starts to produce some rambly ranting stuff, so I'm going to quit now.

G'night.