Today I took the girls for a super-duper evaluation, which included speech, fine motor skills, gross motor skills, and cognitive levels. The point of the assessment was for them to qualify for a type of Medicaid called Katie Beckett. The whole situation was kind of weird for me, because normally, I am always boasting about how far the girls have come and the amazing things they can do, but for this assessment, I was prepared to be dramatic when describing their short-comings so they could qualify. "Don't start speaking English today!", I ordered Francesca.
Turns out, I didn't have worry because both of them both scored way, way, way below normal in all areas.(Of course, it's hard to score fine motor skills on a child wearing bandages on her hands.)
I knew I was being totally irrational, but sometime during the testing, I began to feel really bad. It was hard to see the girls through someone else's eyes. All my doubts and fears started creeping. I started to want the girls to pass the test, which made no sense at all. I began to chime in about how Victoria is making the sign for "please" which she learned in just one day. The testers didn't seem too impressed. The psychologist wrote down things like, "Victoria doesn't verbalize any sounds appropriate for her age."
(Here she is doing the "please" sign)
"Does Victoria ever smile?" they asked me.
"She will if you do something funny." I retorted. After all, my poor baby doesn't know these people. Why should she smile at them?
Then they asked me why I thought it was important that Victoria learn to talk. I figured it might be a trick question, but I tried to sound knowledgeable and said, "Uh, so, she can communicate?"
"Right!" they beamed at me.
They put out some wooden blocks for the girls to stack, but I guess the testers thought it was pointless, because they didn't ask either one of the babies to try to stack the blocks, they just marked a big fat zero next to that skill. I felt sad.
The psychologist also pointed out that Francesca seemed to have a short attention span.
"Well, she is only two." I replied, getting rather defensive. I plopped her in my lap and attempted to get her to point to objects in a book. She slid out of my lap and cruised over to the blocks, where she started to stack them, with her entire hand wrapped in bandages!
Meanwhile, Victoria was correctly putting a triangle and a square into the shape sorter.
"Oh yea! You go babies.", I thought, while I grabbed the blocks out of Francesca's hands before anyone saw her.
"Don't worry," smiled the psychologist, "we already graded the test."
On a side note, we are STILL not done doing Francesca's dressings. One toe and one finger are being stubborn and refusing to heal.
I wish I had the foresight to buy stock in Johnson and Johnson. The cost of the gauze is starting to exceed the cost of our weekly grocery bill.
I don't know what I am going to do with all the extra time once the dressings are finished!