Butterflies

I’m sitting here at my keyboard deeply grateful for Spell-check this morning. Actually, I’m always grateful for Spell-check, because as a graduate of our country’s finest bilingual education system, I am proudly incapable of spelling in either official language.

But today I’m spelling like a monkey with its eyes closed because my hands seem to be shaking rather a lot.

See, Rory’s developmental assessment is this afternoon.

And I’m finding myself in the very strange position of more or less hoping the result confirms what we’re thinking, which is that he fits the profile for an autism spectrum disorder. Which is a very weird thing to find oneself hoping.

The thing is, if he doesn’t, I don’t know where that leaves us.

So I’m about to go collect Himself, pack a peanut butter bagel, pick up Rob from the studio, and drive to the no-man’s-land that is the west end of Toronto, and meet the woman who holds so much of our son’s future in her hands. Or perhaps more accurately, in her observation, in her wisdom, I hope, in her experience.

I’m not really sure what the process will be, but I’ll let you know, I promise. And meanwhile, keep your fingers crossed for us, will you?