Thing 1 was coming, they couldn’t stop him, it was only 24 weeks and 3 days.  Someone came to ask: try to save him?  We had every therapy going for just as long as I could possibly hang onto it: early intervention, the intermediate unit, private therapies.  He worked with an occupational therapist for a year and a half to tolerate teeth and hair brushing.  Terms multiplied, morphed: sensory processing dysfunction, sensory integration problems, orally defensive, auditory sensitivities, comprehensive developmental delay, cognitive function impairment, on and on.

At the same time, parenting didn’t feel natural.  I learned how to read to my baby by watching Phyllis, our physical therapist, do it.  Voices, commentary, labeling colors, counting… she was very good!

Merging professional research skills with my genetic propensity for silliness (mom was class clown, dad’s distantly related to Lucille Ball), my mothering style came together.  Eventually.

Babydaddy.  Thing 2.


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