If there was any doubt left in me that those early tests were right and Atti is mentally disabled, here’s the proof I need that they were wrong.

Atti’s a really picky eater. Despite all those years of beautifully homemade baby food, he has gone full on carb-aholic on me, and if I let him he wouldn’t eat anything but crackers and juice all day long.

He’s so underweight that we are constantly debating if it’s worth letting him go hungry, or just stuffing calories in his face however we can. I am not a mom that shies away from discipline or time outs, but I also don’t want to turn eating into a big negative experience, so we end up doing lengthy negotiations where we beg him to eat three bites of his hot dog or he won’t get any more cheerios. There is frequently a whole lot of fanfare around The Last Bite.

The other day Bear was feeding him pasta with the promise that if he finished the bowl, he could have crackers. Atti was eating really well so Bear didn’t mention that Atti was closing in on his last bite, he just tried to keep pushing food. Finally Atti took the last spoonful of pasta so Bear set the bowl down on the high chair and got up to get the crackers. Atti looked down into the now empty bowl, realized he had *technically* earned his reward, spit his partially chewed pasta back into the bowl it came from and asked, “Crackers?”

Yeah, this kid knows what’s up.

This week has been packed full with appointments. Atti turns three in a couple of weeks, and once he’s three he’ll start school. Before that happens, though, we have to meet with an army of experts who put him through a barrage of tests to determine where the best place for him will be.

Today we met with a school psychologist. He has the job of determining Atti’s intellectual ability and using that to recommend which classroom he goes into. It did not go so well.

Atti performed about the same way he always does on these tests, which is not great, but the tests are really not geared towards a child who has motor delays. Because there really isn’t a great way to test a child with motor delays. At least until they can speak fluently, which Atti can’t. We’re going back on Friday for another try, but I’m not hopeful. There wasn’t anything Atti can do that he wouldn’t do.

At the end of the meeting the psychologist said that he guessed Atti had an IQ of about 70. Which is considered intellectually impaired.

And I’ve been crying ever since.

I know he’s not right. I know that Atti is as sharp as a tack. I showed the psychologist how Atti can count to 20, knows the whole alphabet by sight forwards and backwards, can sing every song ever sung to him, but because he won’t express himself in the manner dictated by the test, it must be indicative of a mental retardation.

But what the test wants to see are things that all revolve around motor skills. He won’t stack blocks, he won’t push a toy car, he won’t do a puzzle, because all of those things are hard to do laying on your stomach and with limited fine motor skills. And all of the higher level stuff he can do doesn’t seem to matter. Those are “splinter skills.”

I’m just so angry right now. How in the world would you be able to determine how well my child will be able to learn based on whether or not he can stack blocks? My little guy has a bright mind, and it’s trapped inside an often uncompliant body. He has work enough to do, I’m not going to let anyone else make his road harder. I will not accept this.

Last night Atti and I were home alone together while Bear was off with the teenage boys at youth group. He’s started doing the most WONDERFUL thing where he’ll get tired of playing with his toys, crawl his way over to the couch, scratch at our legs and ask, “snuggle?”

Sometimes this is really code for wanting to be tickled until he hiccups, but last night when he asked for a snuggle, he meant a snuggle. We spent two delicious hours on the couch watching sappy old movies while we laid down together and I played with his hair. Heaven.

He popped his head up and looked me in the eye, pressed his sweet chubby hand to my cheek and gave me a kiss. Then he took both hands and mussed my hair up like I always do to him, in the process jabbing me right in the eye with one of those sharp baby fingernails.

He managed to scratch my sclera, so now I’m typing this one-eyed and wearing a patch to allow the eye to heal while tears are streaming down my face. After I hit submit I am officially banned from the computer until Monday to allow my eye to heal.

Which means a whole lot more Atti snuggle time. I think he might have planned it this way.