Hermits R Us

It's been such a busy week that I realized, with horror, that I haven't blogged in almost a week. So I'll get you caught up, and will likely have NOTHING to say tomorrow. But I digress.

The girls' pediatrician had recommended that they be evaluated by Early Intervention - thinking that they're a bit behind the curve in terms of their motor skills and such (and as twins and preemies, I'd expected it). Monday we met with the caseworker who took all our info. Tuesday we had a psych guy and a physical therapist come in. I did everything I could to make sure that they were fed and rested prior to the psych guy's arriving. It was all for naught. S. absolutely refused to cooperate. I had her in her high chair and he was trying to see how she manipulated things, etc. She stuck her hands in her mouth, looked at me and cried. D. was a little better, but not great. S. cried from the minute this guy walked in to the minute he left. Stranger anxiety? Was it because he was a man? I have no idea. After he left, she turned to me and smiled: I could've put her through a wall. He essentially tried to tell me that my kids have PDD which is a form of autism. I tried very hard not to throw him out of my house. I told him that his diagnosis was pretty rash for someone who'd been in my house for 30 minutes, and since the "diagnosis" involves things that are outside of his specialty (like their motor development) he should just stick to what he knows.

The meeting with the physical therapist went better. Maybe because she was a woman. She essentially said that S. would probably qualify for physical therapy, but D. was doing just fine on her own, aside from some "soft" muscle tone.

Yesterday I took the girls to have their bangs trimmed, as they were starting to hang in their eyes. That was traumatic. I put the girls in the car, and let them sleep off their trauma for about 40 minutes before going to the mall to have pictures taken. D. wouldn't sit still - she began crawling all around. S. just cried. Cried and cried and drooled and snotted all over the place. I got two pics taken - one of D. alone and one of the two girls together -- and S.'s face looked all mottled and red like she'd been crying (which of couse, she had). I was holding S., she was hysterical, a line of parents waiting were giving me the fish eye, and I gave up. Pulled the plug, and said, "OK we're done here". As I was wheeling them out, a singleton mom said, "I think they're sleepy", to which I replied, "I think you should mind your own business".

OK. That was a tad bitchy. But I was already frustrated. I didn't need some Einstein stating the completely fucking obvious.

And people criticize me for not taking my kids out. They just don't understand what a drain it is to handle both girls at the same time.

For the rest of the day, everything annoyed me. Every toy they pitched out of the stroller, every time D. took off her shoes and socks, every fucking ignoramous that walked directly in the path of my stroller (I'm going to put spikes on my wheels and start cutting some toes before summer's end I swear)

Oh, and I had my eye looked at yesterday too. The Doctor dilated my right eye. I walked around looking like David Bowie for like SEVEN hours. It took forever for my eyes to go back to normal. The blood spot is still there, but it hasn't progressed. She said that it should go away on its own, all I need to do is keep my blood pressure under control. She don't know me very well, do she?

ch-ch-ch-changes....