Parenting
My son, Ethan, is nearly five years old, and I genuinely believe he is one of the most intelligent children I’ve encountered. He can read numerous words and enjoys simple books. Ethan even understands basic multiplication and takes pride in spelling his name. In most situations, I would look at him and think he’s remarkably over-prepared for kindergarten.
However, there’s one small detail.
Ethan is autistic. He doesn’t need extensive support, but he has his quirks. He prefers to explore rather than sit still. While he talks constantly, his speech isn’t exactly what you’d expect from a four-year-old. He loves to learn, yet has no interest in writing.
Last year, he attended a small private preschool, which we adored. Knowing he would be transitioning to public elementary school, I was convinced he needed a full year of public preschool to prepare him. The private school didn’t emphasize readiness for kindergarten, and that was crucial for me. So, we enrolled him in our local public preschool in the fall.
Ethan seems to be doing well. Other kids greet him in the drop-off line, and his teachers and therapists are fantastic and communicative. Despite this, I can’t pinpoint when my anxiety began to spiral.
At some point, I became consumed by the thought that we had only one school year before he entered a typical kindergarten setting, and in my untrained opinion, he wasn’t prepared—not even close. He couldn’t write, and his speech was delayed; did anyone realize how brilliantly he might actually be?
I began viewing preschool as a make-or-break year for Ethan. In those first few months, I sent countless anxious emails to his teachers and therapists, fixated on his “progress” and readiness for kindergarten. I kept wishing they would assure me he was on track to be a kindergartner next fall, but I didn’t directly ask until just before winter break.
My email was clearly frantic because one therapist reached out to me, and her reassuring words made a world of difference. She encouraged me to take a step back, breathe, and truly listen to her insights.
I’m so thankful I did.
She helped me understand that Ethan doesn’t need to cram every possible skill into his preschool year. Contrary to what my worried heart had been telling me, preschool isn’t a year-long test for my atypical son to prove he’s fit for a mainstream classroom. Kindergarten readiness isn’t the primary goal for Ethan, and I needed to calm down.
She explained that the Pre-K program offers only a fraction of the resources he would have access to in elementary school, allowing both of us to relax and let him savor his remaining time in preschool.
Initially, I wanted to argue, insisting he required more assistance. My thoughts raced: “If only he had some extra OT this year, maybe he would be able to write by kindergarten. Can I send you a video of him reading? I swear he can do math! You just don’t see it because he’s quiet at school. Please don’t underestimate him! My son is so bright and capable. He may not communicate like other kids, and some of his quirks can be challenging, but I know he can thrive and be a happy part of the class if his teachers recognize his full potential.”
She clarified that everyone on his team does indeed see him for who he is. Their role is to observe, understand, and help him learn in a way that suits him best. They chose this profession because they care deeply about children and education; they want him to succeed just as much as I do. Their professional pride is tied to watching children like Ethan flourish.
In their notes, they describe him as kind, eager, and intelligent. They celebrate his successes and collaboratively address his challenges. His teachers support him without pushing him, as he deserves to learn at his own pace and enjoy preschool. He’s not falling behind—he’s simply learning different things than I initially thought were necessary.
My obsession with kindergarten readiness stemmed from viewing preschool as his only opportunity to showcase his potential, fearing the school system would overlook him.
As his mother, I’ve always felt the need to validate how smart and capable he is. I worry he might be underestimated and fall through the cracks, which I desperately want to avoid. He deserves the world and everything in it.
I admit that I sometimes enter meetings ready to advocate fiercely. It’s difficult to lower my defenses and trust that others genuinely want to see Ethan reach his full potential as well. I’m still learning to believe that I’m not the only one who sees and cherishes my son.
I believe many parents of children like Ethan can relate to these feelings.
When your child doesn’t fit the conventional mold, it can be frustrating and disheartening that such a mold exists at all. Who determined that every child should meet the same standards simply because they were born around the same time? Raising a child who dances to their own rhythm truly opens your eyes to the fact that we don’t provide enough diversity in learning experiences for all kids. (But that’s a discussion for another day.)
Unfortunately, we can’t always change the system to suit our children, so we sometimes need to help them thrive within a framework that wasn’t designed with them in mind.
The worry often begins early, and I know we’ll face many greater challenges as Ethan grows.
If you’re like me and have a little one with special considerations who isn’t yet school-aged, and you’re feeling anxious about kindergarten readiness, I encourage you to take a deep breath.
Adjusting my expectations has been the best thing for Ethan, his teachers, and my own mental well-being. For children with special needs, preschool is an invaluable year to learn classroom dynamics, access free services they’re entitled to by law, and if necessary, establish an Individualized Education Plan (IEP). It’s not a test to determine whether they are worthy of being seen, appreciated, and properly educated.
Children with special needs are entitled to a free and appropriate education just like every other child in this country. Some will thrive in mainstream classrooms, while others will excel in special education settings. Some kids will need extensive support, while others may only require minimal assistance. Whatever our unique children need, they don’t have to prove their worthiness; they can enter kindergarten feeling confused and unprepared like any other child and learn as they go.
Ethan has an IEP for a reason, and he will receive the extra help he needs for as long as necessary. The first day of kindergarten isn’t a deadline for him—it’s a fresh start brimming with potential.
Admitting that I needed to recalibrate my expectations for Ethan’s preschool experience wasn’t easy, but the relief I feel now is immense. I no longer have to obsess over kindergarten readiness or fret about meeting every checkpoint on a checklist. My smart, beautiful son is entitled to an education, and if I’m willing to fight for him, he will receive it without needing to prove himself first. It’s freeing to know that I can let go of some of my perfectionist tendencies.
For more insights, you might want to check out this related post here or visit Make a Mom for further information on home insemination. Also, see this resource for additional insights into genetics and IVF.
Summary
The author shares her journey of navigating her son Ethan’s readiness for kindergarten, emphasizing the pressure she felt as a mother of an autistic child. She learns to adjust her expectations and recognize that preschool should be a time for learning and enjoyment, not a test of his abilities. The article highlights the importance of understanding that every child’s learning path is unique and that special needs children are entitled to appropriate education without the pressure to prove themselves.