Noooooooo

I hate change.  Well, that is not entirely true.  I used to hate change and now I just don’t really like it, but when it comes to one anxiety ridden three year old that is asleep upstairs, I hate it again.  I wanted to write a happy post that I started about a little adventure we took, but then I received an email and that friendly little buzz just sent me into a tailspin of anxiety.  To summarize: the teacher that your baby girl ADORES, and is the reason that she wears certain clothes, and the one that she pretends to be at home, the same one your crazy girl loves because she was her brother’s teacher as well, and the one that is her reason to feel safe at school when everything else is too scary to move, yes, that teacher is LEAVING.  It said something about a personal leave of absence and wishing her the best and a new teacher taking over.  We didn’t even get to say goodbye! My heart! Breathe!

A new teacher may not sound too scary for many, but for Ivy, well words cannot describe how I feel right now.  My poor little girl has such anxiety and stress.  I even worry that she needs to be seen for it.  In certain social situations, she can barely function.  Now, we have made progress,  of which I attribute a large part of that to essential oils, but she still needs work.  At a birthday party over the weekend she was looking for me.  I saw one of the moms bend over and ask her if she needed something.  I paused, waiting to see what she would do.  She tucked her head in the usual fashion and stared into space…for a second…and then she lifted her head and asked for help unwrapping the cupcake.  This was a major breakthrough for her.  I have been around her when someone, familiar or not, has approached her with a question or statement and I have actually felt her emotional and physical stress.  Her body stiffens up, she looks away, she can barely think, and we often end up with tears.  

Once she truly trusts someone or she does not feel vulnerable, a different girl emerges.  You get a social, sweet, and chatty girl.  You get to see her sparkle and see how incredibly smart she is.  She sings, she dances and she shines.  Strangers in the store know things about us, because she tells them.  Ivy really is the extreme.  She is sort of like one of those boxes you see with a big old orange sticker stuck to it: HANDLE WITH CARE.  Honestly, wouldn’t things just be so much easier if we could send our kids out with a sticker.

NAME: IVY 

SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS: HANDLE WITH CARE 

and the small print underneath would say: Let her come to you, she needs to feel safe, she needs to feel comfortable, she is happiest in control, she doesn’t know how to play, she loves tasks, she loves to be in charge, she needs her one go-to person, oh and whatever you do - don’t make eye contact. 

Well, since I can’t put that sticker on her, I suppose I have no choice but to take a deep breath (or fifty), hopefully sleep this lump in the back of my throat away, say a little prayer, add a little extra essential oils to her (and myself) in the morning and go meet her new teacher….. either that, or curl into a ball and cry….

I think I just might do both.