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So my son will be going into the Special Ed program for his speech disability.  I'm absolutely crushed and devastated as a mother.  If I could cut off my lips and give them to my son, I would.  If it required I donate my voicebox, I would.  Heck, all I ever do is send emails these days anyway.

After being told by the therapists that Josh is going to be with them for the next 2 years, that it's going to be a long hard road, and it's going to take daily work and serious commitment on my part, I did what every mom has done at least a million times:  I went home and beat myself up for being a bad mom.  As usual, we blame ourselves for these things.  After all, we can't blame our kids - especially when they aren't even 3 years old yet!  So I kept running through my mind - why didn't I try harder to get him to nurse?  I could have tried for a month longer.  I could have forced the issue with blowing earlier.  I could have called early intervention earlier.  I could have demanded therapy as early as 18 months, after all, I knew there was a problem.  I could have demanded an X-ray earlier than 4 months old.  Over and over and over again.  ANYTHING I could think of that could have prevented this.  But alas, we all know where this line of interrogation goes - only to depression.  So I decided if I was going to beat myself up over something, it should be something worth the flogging, and I made death by chocolate brownies.  I'll flog myself again when I can't fit into my pants.