And so we've been called into school

Yet again by the special education department. To discuss the brat. My stomach is already a mess of writhing anxiety. I asked the class teacher yesterday at the school gate as to what prompted this sudden renewal of interest in his case from the special ed department seeing as this is the fag end of the academic year, and they have slept peacably on his file papers for the entire year. "He is slow academically."
This is a child who couldnt even write at the start of the term. He is now writing full sentences in print and cursive. He didnt have the concept of a number line when term started. He now does his addition and subtraction on his own. If the school is galloping ahead at obscene levels and beginning division and multiplication (dont I remember us learning the two concepts well after we had been introduced to the tables!), it is too far fetched to expect him to gallop too with the rest of the kids. This is senior kg. I am already shuddering at his syllabus and asking his father to sit with him for his arithmetic.
We go in tomorrow morning to hear them out. As to why they feel he needs a special educator. If he needs help, I am perfectly alright with him receiving that help. But I am not willing to sit and listen if they label him. Because he doesnt fit into labels anymore. He's a perfectly regular child. Superbright. Superinteractive. Supersparkly. And its not because I am his mother. It is because I have sweated blood bringing him here. And I know from what point he started and to what point he has reached. If this is labelling purely because he had a history, I'm not accepting it.
And I'm metaphorically girding up my loins. He might be slow but he has no learning disability and no other issues. That I am sure of. Pray for me. And my son. Yes, the husband accompanies me. I cannot be trusted not to become a blabbering, snivelling, nose blowing mass of sobbing flesh.