The Perfect Child(42)
Potty training was a huge victory in our house and renewed our hope. It rejuvenated us in the same way our parents coming to stay with us had. All the bathroom stuff had brought laughter into parenting for the first time, and it was wonderful—the first glimpse into the fun parts of parenting. Hannah felt it too. There was a new pep in her step, and her old confidence was starting to come back.
“Janie’s not going to be that much older than some of the boys in transitional kindergarten. I would recommend having her finish this year in transitional kindergarten since she’s had no exposure to school, especially because the program runs through the summer. Then you start her in kindergarten in the fall,” Mrs. Allulo explained.
We signed her up to begin the following week. We arranged a special meeting with the director and her teacher to go over her history and background. We’d been on the fence about telling them everything because we wanted people to treat Janie like a normal kid. We didn’t want anyone to pity her or treat her differently, but it was too dangerous not to tell them because of all her issues. She was making small gains every day when it came to feeding, but we were a long way from being able to trust her not to eat inedible objects. Those were the things I worried about, but Hannah’s biggest concern was that Janie had no exposure to other children besides the ones at the park and would be at a huge social loss.
“I’m so nervous for her,” Hannah said on the drive home. “She’s going to be so far behind the other kids. She doesn’t know her ABCs, how to count to ten—very basic things. Every one of the kids in that class is going to know that stuff. They’re going to think either she’s really dumb or we’re terrible parents.” Her face was cinched with worry.
“You know how much she likes to meet new people. She’ll probably be friends with half the class by the end of the day, and it won’t even matter.”
“Are you worried about . . .” She paused, eyeing Janie in the back seat. “You know . . .”
She intentionally didn’t finish the sentence. The longer Janie’s case went without leads, the more we started getting used to living with ambiguity even if it was scary. We didn’t have any choice. Neither of us acknowledged how scared we were to let Janie out of our sight.
I reached over and squeezed her knee while she drove. “She’ll be safe. The doors are locked, and they aren’t going to sign her out with anyone besides us or our parents.”
I was scrolling through golf scores that night when Hannah motioned for me to follow her into Janie’s bedroom. She lay down next to Janie on the floor. “What are you playing with?” she asked.
Janie lifted up the necklace she was working on and proudly displayed her progress. My mom had sent her a wooden bead set last week. We almost hadn’t given it to her because we’d thought it’d be too hard for her, but we’d been wrong. She loved it and spent hours fitting the colorful beads on the string. It was an excellent exercise for her fine motor skills, and she didn’t even know it.
“That is so pretty,” Hannah said. “I really like the pattern you’re using.”
Janie held it up and pointed. “It goes pink, purple, heart.”
“I love it.” Colors had been the easiest thing to learn. She’d picked them up immediately before she’d left the hospital. One of her favorite things to do was go through her crayon bin, picking out different ones and having us read what they were. Hannah laid out a piece of paper next to the beads. “I made something too.”
Janie was immediately drawn to the bright colors. “What’s that?”
“It’s a map.” Hannah pointed as she talked. “This is our house. Then this is the park over here, and this is the grocery store.”
“What’s this?” Janie pointed to the school.
“That’s a school,” Hannah said. “Remember how we explained that a school is a place where kids go to learn?”
Janie nodded.
“When kids get big enough, then they go to school. And guess what?”
Janie’s eyes filled with excitement. “What?”
“You’re big enough to go to school now. This school?” Hannah pointed to the map again. “It’s very close to our house, and it’s the one that you get to go to on Monday.”
The excitement drained from Janie’s face. “What about Daddy?” she said.
I plopped on the floor next to them. “I’ll be at work while you’re at school, but I’m going to be super excited to hear all about it when you get home.”
“So just Mommy?” she asked.
I froze. It was the first time she’d called Hannah Mommy. Hannah tried to keep her composure and not make a big deal out of the moment. I reached over and squeezed her knee, knowing how much it meant to her.
“No, Mommy won’t be there either,” she said. Her voice wavered despite her efforts at control. “School is just for kids and teachers.”
Janie shook her head. “I don’t wanna go to school.”
I planned on going with Hannah to drop Janie off on her first day of school, but I got an emergency call in the middle of the night. There had been a terrible accident on Interstate 10, and I had to rush into surgery. When I finally finished, my phone was filled with Hannah’s texts. It was a play-by-play of their morning: