I’m sat here this evening* contemplating a 13 page report, which could be summed up rather more succinctly as: Small Girl is dyslexic and needs help.
Things I might be feeling right now:
-huge sadness, because this won’t go away and I can’t fix it for her
-a smidgeon of relief (that I haven’t been imagining it all, and that I finally listened- really listened- to what she was telling me)
-the usual bucketload of maternal guilt (that I didn’t listen better/ do something sooner when she was so miserable)
-overwhelmed (at the amount of battles I’m going to have to fight on her behalf over the next eight years of school)
*To be strictly accurate, I’ve been contemplating it all weekend. This was possibly not a good use of summer holidays, but I needed to get my head around it. I’m planning to spend what’s left of the summer on a Scottish island, drinking gin. That works for me. Apologies if you’re one of the people I’ve been ignoring lately. I’ll be ready to talk about this soon…