How can I even begin to thank you guys. I cannot express how wonderful it is to be so thoroughly cheered on by old friends, new friends, readers, and the whole of the internet. It is a powerful feeling to have all of you behind me and I really do feel the strength of all the prayers and good thoughts and hopeful intentions. Please forgive how horribly behind I am in my emails, but believe I treasure every one.
We’re coming to terms with things over here, and a couple of my oldest and dearest friends managed to say some things that really made me discover some faith in myself. Crysta rewrote that whole paragraph I wrote about Atti’s strength to become her speaking about me. And dear dear Jana reminded me of how I have tackled things in the past. I thought it was so funny, I do so love my moment of drama, but now it’s time to get down to business and find that action plan Jenny pointed out.
I’ve been thinking pretty much non-stop about what the doctor has said. I really wish I could just write her off as a quack, or hate her somehow so I could work on proving her wrong with all the spite in my heart. But she’s not a quack, and I’ll adore her forever. I’ve decided that it was her job to convince me of the odds against him so that I would be absolutely ferocious about pursuing treatment. I can’t afford to waste time hoping that it’s just a phase or thinking he’s just a little bit slow, I have to understand down to my core just what he’s fighting against so I can give him the support he needs. Her job was to scare me into action.
But I also think that she just doesn’t know this kid. The other day I was firmly entrenched in my couch bed, eating coffee ice cream and ignoring the shower for the mumblemumble day in a row, and I just had no emotional resources to be an interactive parent. Normally when it’s Atti’s tummy time I keep a pretty tight reign on him. He likes to roll over and hang out on his back, so on a regular day I stay close to keep flipping him back over. During my pity party I just let him go. There were toys scattered all over the floor and I watched as he rolled from one end of the carpet to the other, pulling himself along like an army commando, huffing and puffing and scooting along to get to the toy that played the music.
He’s going to do it. He’s going to figure it out. I just have to find a way to give him the freedom he needs, and the support he needs at the same time.