My Little Ball Buster

Sophie’s in full-on ball buster mode. Has been since she woke up yesterday morning, which is unfortunate, since she had a 2-hour appointment with the psychologist yesterday to continue some testing we started last month to make sure she’s getting the right services.  

I can tell you this: She didn’t score high in the behavior category, if there is one. At one point, she climbed up behind the psychologist’s desk, grabbed a back issue of New York magazine and started paging through, laughing like crazy. (Knowing she was driving me crazy.)

Then last night we swam with the fabulous Ms. X, kindergarten teacher, who got a taste of her own near future when Sophie refused to leave the party. Everyone insisted it was cute; it terrified me.

Sophie even acted up this morning, in front of Ms. Janice, the lead singer of the rock star teacher line-up, the one who swears in two years she never witnessed the kind of behavior performed today at the breakfast table. Sophie’s taken to making this snorting noise and bumping her head into my chest, when she’s annoyed with me, which is often. She stood up in the booth, showed us her chewed up bacon, and refused to behave til her stuffed dog told her to. (A trick I’ve been employing constantly, it seems.)

We did all laugh when I handed Sophie her orange juice. She immediately took a big drink, her tongue sticking right out beneath the straw (a Down syndrome problem, that tongue — too big for a small mouth, combined with low muscle tone).

“Sophie, put your tongue in!” I said.

She stuck it out further.

“Sophie, put your tongue in,” Ms. Janice said, in perfect pre-school speak.

The tongue went back in.

It’ll be back out, I’m sure, when I see Sophie tonight. I just wonder how she’s faring with GaGa; they left breakfast for the mall.

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