Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes, especially when my little boy is throwing himself on the icy driveway in a fit of despair because he saw a summer bubble maker in our garage that he had.to.have.right.then., I forget just how far he has come.  Actually, I usually forget nowadays.  There's not really a reason for me to view everything he does through the filter of what he couldn't do in the past.

But sometimes, it's nice to remember.  And he deserves the props.

This morning a random memory popped into my head.  Little Bug had been home for a couple weeks and was just shy of 11 months old.  I took him to our local children's hospital for a PT evaluation.   I didn't like the PT, so I am sure that doesn't help paint the memory kindly, but I vividly recall watching my little darling baby lying on his back on a play mat while the therapist tried to get him to raise his arms or legs for a toy.  He couldn't.  He simply was not strong enough to raise his appendages up in the air.  He just laid there in his diaper on the cold mat, whimpering pathetically while my new-mama heart broke and raged against this person, the first person I had encountered who was not on "Team Little Bug."

I knew how far behind he was before I went that day, but I never really broke it down to skills so basic, and yet, so far out of his "reach."  It was a reality check.  A big one.

The young PT rocked back on her heels after a couple minutes, looked me in the eye, and gave me what I can only assume she thought was a "tough love" speech about my expectations for my son.  My 11-month-old son who she was evaluating (fairly, I will grant) to be at a 2-4 month level physically.  And although I recall the pain of that moment, I also recall thinking three things:

1. We're never coming back to this room.
2. If you don't believe in my son, you're out of our lives.  Just like that.
3. We're going to prove her wrong.

I'm not saying that she said he would never progress, but her prognosis that day was a far cry from the 3-year-old who tries valiantly to do the "balance beam" mat at school, who shakes his booty something crazy to Bob Marley, and who is currently perfecting the swan dive as a means of showing displeasure.

A little boy who sings "It's a Small World" in his car seat while vigorously kicking his legs as we drive past that very hospital and I clearly see the window where the therapy balls and mats still sit.

So no, I don't often compare everything my little bug does against the things that used to be hard for him, but sometimes the memories come flooding back unbidden, and when they do, I like to take a second and revel in just how far he has come, how hard he has worked, how amazing he was then, and how amazing he is now.

Even and especially when those kicking legs are driving me nuts.