The key event recently has been Darcie's tenth birthday, two weeks ago. The build-up was incredible, and I admit to secretly being caught up in it all, feeling like I was celebrating something personal, in addition to helping my child celebrate her birthday. My mum always used to say she felt excited on my birthdays and I could never understand why - what's so great about someone else getting all the attention and presents I wondered? It's one of the many things that became clearer when I had the kids, I get excited about their birthdays as it means I've survived another year and they're that bit closer to leaving home. Also, there's something truly spectacular about seeing your child celebrate being on the planet for another twelve months, thinking I did it, I kept them alive and resisted the urge to murder them, I've survived another year of motherhood.
I've talked a lot about all the problems I have with Darcie in this blog; I've moaned and felt sorry for myself, beaten myself up, written it all down desperately hoping that somehow the answers will leap off the computer screen at me and suddenly all our problems will be solved. However, right now, I'm stepping out of the bubble of horribleness which I seem to live in most of the time, and saying something different. I'm saying that I love Darcie, there's no way I could not love her, and I'm so grateful to her for giving me this last decade. Of all the little presents she's given me so far, and of all the gifts she'll give me in the future, none of them will ever beat the gift of motherhood she gave me ten years ago. I'm still the person I was before I had her, I'm still me, and I still feel so young sometimes, but I'm something else now, and being her mum will always be amazing. My life as her mum is full of sadness and regret which is terrible, but as I've said before here, if someone said I could jump back ten years and not be Darcie's mum then I can say with total sincerity that I would not take that option. I do not want any other daughter, I'd dearly love her attitude and our relationship to be a million times better, and my skills as a mum to be a billion times better, but I want her. I wanted Darcie from the second I saw that fuzzy image on the screen at our first scan, when abortion was still a very real option, and I didn't even know myself that I truly wanted her. But a part of me, no matter how little, knew, and that's why I took the path that I honestly think has been the hardest. If we'd had an abortion, then Darcie would have ceased to exist, and I would never have forgiven myself, I'd have thought about her every day for the rest of my life, but that would have, in my opinion, been easier than the route I've taken. I'm not after any praise or admiration, but a little bit of me is proud that we had her and that we've done it the hard way.
I don't tell her often enough that I love her, and that I'm proud of her, because quite frankly I can't bring myself to. I know how disgusting that makes me seem, but it's true; sometimes when she's screaming insanely at me, saying she wants me to die and accusing me of trying to kill her, I think - I'd never kill you, I love you more than I can ever describe. If a crazed gun man burst in (you'd be surprised how often that happens) and was about to shoot you, I'd stand in front of you and let him shoot me instead. If you needed a kidney, I'd give you one of mine without a moments hesitation. I want to say this to Darcie, but my anger and hurt stops me, the loathing in her eyes stops me and more often than not I say something horrible instead, to hurt her like she's hurting me. Every morning I think - tonight when she's lying in bed I'll give her a big hug and tell her how much I love her and that she makes me happy. But instead she spends 3 hours solidly screeching at me, I'm tired and snap, screaming back at her, switching the light off and leaving her crying in the dark. Sometimes every bit of me longs to hold her in my arms like I did when she was a baby but I know she'll push me away and yell how much she hates me. But the truth is, no matter how much I try and convince myself that I don't like her, that she's not worth all the tears I shed, all the sadness I feel, she is worth it. Darcie doesn't smile often enough, but when she does she has the most lovely smile, and at random moments I'll find myself thinking, you're beautiful. You really are such a beautiful little girl, how the hell have I created you?
There's something Darcie doesn't know; again this year her classroom is on the top level of the school and at the end of the day she has to walk down a flight of stairs, which lead to the outside door. (she knows that, eventually I'll get to the bit she doesn't know!) Her teacher Mr Harrison comes out of that door each afternoon, then stands on the little square at the top of another few steps before you're in the playground. The kids all file past him, and he stands there presumably so any parents can nab him or he can nab any unsuspecting parents and say the dreaded "can I have a quick word?" which hardly ever means anything good. After I collect Harvey from his school we have a 10/15 minute wait for Darcie and I've secured a position for myself near the 4 or 5 outside steps which lead up to the door she comes out of. Harvey spends that time either running around with his friends terrorising people while I carefully ignore him, or moaning at/poking me because he's tired and wants sweets, fluid or the toilet, all three if it's a bad day. Once the bell goes, I carefully watch the flight of stairs beyond the door, naturally all the quick kids charge down them, through the door, ignoring the glares of Mr Harrison, jump down the stone outside steps into freedom. I've learned the hard way that my darling daughter is the slowest child in the year if not the school, and have spent many afternoons freezing half to death in the playground planning complicated punishments for keeping me waiting for so long. There was the time in the middle of last winter when I stood shaking in the playground with a sobbing Harvey, watching the snow start to fall and every single other parent heading home. I was less than impressed when Darcie informed me that she and a friend had been chucking wet paper towels at each other in the toilets, then she retired to the window to watch me standing in the playground below while her friend went home. I shouted at her all the way home, threatened to slice her open from top to bottom if she ever pulled that trick again, but as always my threats fell on deaf ears. Anyway the thing she doesn't realise is that I position myself so I can see her when she eventually materializes and makes her way slowly down the inside flight of stairs towards the door, I watch her most nights, that figure that is my child. I watch her concentration as she plods down the stairs, I look at her knowing she doesn't realise I'm watching, before she sees me and the arguments start. I soak up those precious two or three minutes, thinking how familiar she is, how I know every bit of her.
One of the best things is seeing how much people like her, how her friends can see the good in her when I often can't myself. It's fantastic to create something other people like, knowing I've made something which brings happiness into other peoples lives is amazing. Simons youngest sister had her first baby three weeks ago, and when I was talking to her on the phone recently she commented on how emotional and thrilled their families are with the baby she's produced. I still love seeing how my kids make other people happy, it's a lovely thing. It's great how much my mum loves being a granny and I'm thrilled that I made her one. We had a little bowling party for Darcie last weekend, and I was genuinely touched at how much her friends think of her, two of them wrote "to my best friend" in the cards, it's brilliant that she's liked. Basically because I don't overly like myself, I find it amazing that people like something I've created.
We still have meetings with Carole the Midget, it's about a year now since our uneasy relationship started. I swing between actively loathing the woman and thinking she might be okay really, and I think in an odd kind of way she's fond of us. I admire her for braving the hell hole which is our flat repeatedly and not lecturing me about painting the walls or dusting the skirting boards (my mother has an unhealthy obsession with skirting boards, she honestly believes that I have nothing better to do than clean them every day - stuff the washing, tidying, feeding my children; I should push all that aside and give the skirting boards my full attention) We have visits from Carole every few weeks and irritating as she is, I have to give the woman credit for helping us more than any other professional ever has. It's taken a lot of tedious meetings, us nearly screaming at her with frustration when she ignores everything we say, talks to Darcie instead and comes to the conclusion that we're utterly wrong when it comes to parenting and Darcie's a switched on, perfectly normal girl who just needs firmer boundaries. Admittedly my parenting skills aren't great to say the least, but it's been so upsetting being criticised by the professional meant to support and help us, while my child sits and smirks. Finally, finally, after months of swaying between thinking Darcie has serious problems and thinking we're at fault, Carole seemed to make her mind up that we needed help and set the wheels in motion. At the end of the summer holidays and after being on a waiting list for ages, we finally got an appointment for a cognitive assessment at Falcon House, where Carole mainly works and one of the bases for Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS) who she works for. Before the summer holidays, Carole had arranged for one of her colleagues to go and observe Darcie at school for part of a day, and feed back the results to her. The woman observing said that Darcie seemed detached and different to her peers, and over reacted (she thought some boys were trying to kill her in the playground and reported this to the teacher, plus another child was apparently trying to hurt her when in fact he was just pushing his chair under the table) it was confirmed that the cognitive assessments were a very good idea, which was a real breakthrough for us.
So I took Darcie to Falcon House at the end of the holidays for two separate assessments, one week apart. I had to sit in the waiting area most of the time (not a problem as it's a lovely building and being able to read my book and drink hot chocolate in peace was fantastic) while a woman called Anna did various mysterious tasks with my daughter. Anna is one of those young, depressingly attractive, skinny women who is also unbelievably nice - the kind you want to hate but can't as they're genuinely lovely. At the end of the second session I was called in to answer a few questions about Darcie's behaviour, tedious really as I've been through it all so many times now. Anna pleasantly said that she'd calculate the results and discuss it with her superior before calling us back in a few weeks for a feed back appointment. Simon & I were desperate to find out what the tests had shown, and hoped in some ways they'd throw up a problem which proved that we're not just bad parents.
After lots of waiting, we had the appointment with Anna last week, and felt like a couple of school children (despite both being several years older than her) waiting for crucial exam results. I'd been too wound up to have any breakfast (me not eating is a rare thing so worth mentioning) so was conscious of my rumbling stomach, Simon and I had spent most of the morning accusing each other of random things and generally squabbling in a way very similar to our kids, only making up in the taxi so tension still hung in the air. I tried to work out what I was expecting as Anna talked us through the assessments Darcie had completed and the Weschler Intelligence scale they'd used, but came to the conclusion that it was one of those situations where there wasn't a right outcome. Anna then admitted that they'd been unable to produce a full-scale IQ as the results were so diverse - high in some tests, low in others - but the estimate IQ is 81. Anna was reluctant to confirm that this is below average as Darcie's performance was so variable, but in a round about way said that it is. Upsetting as nobody likes to be told their child is essentially less intelligent than they should be, but the real bombshell was still to come. Anna showed us the results, stressing that in some Darcie had come out as average (her vocabulary is good as it always has been, and comprehension was fine) but in most things she was below average. The bombshell I guess was the Processing Speed Index test when she came out on the 1st percentile, meaning that 99% of children would have done better than her. Basically this is a high priority concern; she struggles to hold info in her memory and process it, she can't complete tasks as fast as other kids her age, she can't learn things as quickly as she should. I had this overwhelming urge to say "so basically she's a bit dim then?" which is what she'd have been called 50 years ago before all this assessments and labels were thought up.
So what it comes down to is that we officially have a child who isn't special needs but who officially has a problem. For the rest of her school life she'll be known as one of the kids who's a bit different, who allowances have to be made for - teachers will know that she needs instructions written down, she needs to ideally be given one instruction at a time, she needs more time to do things, she'll need extra time in tests and exams. I don't for a second regret having the cognitive assessments done, and of course it's fantastic that we're aware of her problems, but I also feel gutted. At the end of the day, I don't want a child with a lower than average IQ, I don't want a child with this problems. It goes without saying that I realise there are kids with much, much worse issues and I'm so grateful to have two kids who are essentially fit and healthy. I don't have a right to moan about this, but I can't help but feel confused and upset. Obviously this isn't the whole reason Darcie screams, etc. and soon she'll have yet more assessments to see if she's on the autistic spectrum in addition to all this, but I feel like we're making some kind of progress. At last. Ignorance is bliss in some ways though, and now we have to come to terms with the fact that Darcie officially has poor short-term memory and simply isn't going to cope in the same way her peers do. I worry about what this will mean for her; will it ultimately have an effect on the rest of her life? Will she not be able to do the job she wants to? and as always I blame myself, did I do something to make her this way? I keep reading through the info Anna gave us and want to cry; I know how bitchy this sounds but I went to private school, Simon and I have both been to uni and have lists of qualifications, logically our child shouldn't have a lower than average IQ. I realise the world doesn't work that way, and somewhere devastated parents are wondering why their child has cancer when nobody in either side of the family has had it. I'll say again that we're incredibly lucky to have our children, despite all this, and that as always we'll cope. We've got a meeting with the Midget tomorrow to discuss the results of this tests, no idea what I'll say to her. The really bad thing is that I haven't even been able to tell my parents about all this as for some reason I'm worried that they'll be angry with me or blame me.
