Baby Sit-Ups

Max started every-other-week physical therapy about a month ago.  He also sees a speech therapist once a month.  It sounds like he’ll have a full schedule of weekly physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy by the time he turns one.  Most of this comes to us through First Steps—a federally mandated, state run early intervention service.  First Steps therapists come to our home for sessions, and the service is free for us.  It’s really an incredible set up, I am thankful for the help we’re getting from folks who know the challenges ahead of Max, and I have found our sessions so far to be fun and fascinating.  Child development really is amazing.  But I’m still processing how to be the parent I want to be in the middle of this systematic approach to development.

Like today at the YMCA playground.  It’s a great little space for Toby to get out some of that nonstop-four-year-old-energy, and the floor is padded with mats, so it’s a good place for Max to hang out and get in some tummy time on his blanket.  Today we were the only ones there, so Max and I had the ground level to ourselves, and we started practicing his PT exercises.  Some baby sit ups, some rolling over, and a whole lot of kisses and tickles.

And then another mom and her son show up.

And I realize how silly I look.

“Aw,” says other-mom, “How cute.  How old is he?”  Three months old.  Three months old, and I am coaching my baby on how to turn over.  He’s not even old enough to be “behind,” and yet here I am helping his body do something it’s not quite ready to do, correcting the way he holds his head, and getting all excited when he flexes his itty-bitty neck muscles.  Heck, why don’t we start teaching him to play the violin while we’re at it?

This is when I’m not sure what to say.  I don’t want to introduce my kid with a diagnosis.  Today I went with “He’s in physical therapy, and this is something we’re working on.”  That seemed a way to explain what I was doing and put some sort of medical weight behind it

But really, thinking about it, I’m fairly certain the other-mom didn’t care.  My explanation was all about me.  “I’m not the kind of mom who keeps track of whose baby rolls over first,” I wanted to say, “I’m only doing this because the doctor said we must.”

And when I get beyond myself, there's a deeper worry--about what it will be like for Max, growing up, to be constantly prodded to be someone he isn’t quite yet.

I understand that these early intervention steps are useful and necessary.  I’m just still working out a way of thinking about them.