Heidi's Hell Hole

Dear Assesor,

Thank you for not listening to a damn thing I had to say. Every time I would try and point something out or say something helpful, I was poo-pooed. "We're the professionals, we know what we're doing." That little statement made me doubt everything I'd ever done as a Mother, and everything I'd done to help her speech along.

You gave me the results and tore my world apart. Four months?! I was crushed, and I was angry at the world. I was so mad that someone had dared to tell me my baby girl, my heart, my soul, my world, my EVERYTHING was anything less than perfect. But at the same time, I thought to myself that I was justified, that something was wrong. Anyone who dared contradict me brought my full wrath upon them. I even wrote into my favorite advice column, Alpha Mom, twice about it! I feel like I need to write in and apologize, "Sorry, false alarm! I'm a jackass! Thanks for publishing my questions, and having people respond! Love your blogs, though!"

For three weeks we waited for the second appointment. Three very long, very torturous weeks. Three weeks of living in a self-created hell. I doubted everything I'd ever done when I was pregnant, in labor, or as a parent. Was it because I drank coffee when I was pregnant? Was it the two epidurals? Did I not work with her enough? I picked fights with everyone. It was not a pleasant time in my household, and now I owe just about everyone I know an apology for being such a snatch.

Only to find out last night, you didn't even DO THE DAMN TEST RIGHT AND DIDN'T READ THE DAMN DIRECTIONS! The second assesor, Paula, apologized on your behalf. She apologized that we had to go through this, she apologized that you didn't give the test right. Come to find out, you didn't give her credit for things, when you had them noted on the test that SHE FREAKING DID THEM! What the hell, tester?! Needlessly Bryan and I wondered if Pook would be alright in the end. I spent three weeks trying to figure out how we'd afford her therapy. THREE WEEKS, YOU BITCH.  Paula was so upset that she put in a call to your office to ream your ass out. You haven't returned her phone call, I doubt that you will. You're damn lucky Bryan wasn't there at the testing, he would've left you in tears. While I stood back and laughed.

Next time, why don't you READ THE DIRECTIONS, ADMINISTER THE TEST CORRECTLY, and here's a novel idea...LISTEN TO THE PARENTS. Hopefully some other family doesn't need to go through what we went through due to your mistakes. As I write this, I am trying to refrain from cursing too much. It's taking quite a bit. When I am as furious as I am now, I swear quite profusely. But I will say this, a parting curse: FUCK OFF, BITCH.