Bub had the psychiatric evaluation that he was supposed to have last week — the one that he’s needed to have on file to start behavioral therapy (crisis management therapy to begin with because he has been hurting other people during meltdowns, but especially me as his primary caregiver, and then trauma-informed CBT therapy to ensure that he learns and retains the skills necessary to deal with the overwhelming emotions of meltdowns in ways that do not hurt himself or those around him). Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult, and the woman who did the evaluation stated that she was sure that he would be eligible for services. I’m also supposed to get a call next week to give the agency the rest of his behavioral and medical history, because the person that was supposed to call me last week for that… never did, come to find out that she did not have my phone number, so she couldn’t call me if she didn’t have that right. I even checked my call logs. “Why isn’t she calling me like she said she would at…” Like, nope, she didn’t.

She did apologize for getting my phone number wrong, so there was that, but this could have been done.

Anyway, Bub let me cut a little bit more of the hair beside his ears, but not very much. The woman who did his psychiatric evaluation agreed with me that I should continue to make haircuts as minimal stress as I possibly can, and they can also work on it in behavioral therapy (to prevent haircuts from causing him trauma but still being able to do them, or to sit for having them done). But the look on his face in this…

That look on his little face, though. That look on his precious little face. Look at that look on his face.

And I am not sure for the life of me why these pictures are differing heights, but it is what it is. Both of them enjoyed their meals. If Monster wasn’t already the fan of Subway that he is, McDonalds would probably be his favorite fast food place… and Bub already loves it, which is a welcome surprise given how picky he’s been over food in the past. He’s become increasingly less picky over the months, but part of that might be the fact that he is now on Mirtazapine to help him sleep at night since melatonin alone was not sufficiently helping.

The OB that I had for that pregnancy kept “insisting” that it was December 2nd in spite of the fact that I have thirty-day cycles and Monster’s femur length proved that it was December 4th, but I don’t exactly trust the person who couldn’t bother to screen me for domestic violence for shit. He was actually surprised when he asked about the father of my child at my first postpartum appointment and I responded, “He’s in jail right now,” because he was literally sitting in jail as that appointment was taking place. Needless to say, I found myself another OB when I found out that I was pregnant with Bub, and I would have kept him as my OB/GYN were it not for the fact that if I do get pregnant again (and decide to keep it, because “threat to maternal life” still qualifies me for an abortion under Texas laws such that they are), the doctor that I see for my Depo-Provera shots is skilled in high-risk prenatal care and… yeah, I would definitely need that, heh.

Hims also had no cavities and cooperated more for the dentist than he has in years! Yay Bub!