Pretty Terrific

Well, Anonybabe finally had her first session of physical therapy. A woman named Sam came to our house this morning (while I was away at work), with her therapeutic balls and her clipboard. Anonyhub confirmed my take on her from our phone conversations: late middle-aged, more business than pleasure, a little bland and just-the-facts, but she does have a lot of helpful facts that she readily dispenses. Anonyhub says Anonybabe quickly warmed to her, chattering and zipping around, but that Anonybabe wasn't terribly cooperative about doing things she wasn't interested in doing.

"I am done," Anonybabe would announce, after Sam would ask her to, say, sit on top of a large exercise ball. "I am going to my vewy own room to pway doll house." And she would. Sam would roll with it, coming up with games they could play in her room, suggesting little games to Anonyhub that he could play with her to build up certain muscles, checking out Anonybabe's shoes and feet.

Anonyhub got to talk to her about our concerns, and the fact that they were minimal. He got to talk to her about Anonybabe's daycare, and how they seemed more worried about Anonybabe's development than we were.

"I can talk to them for you," said Sam. "I can let them know let them know what she's capable of when she's in a comfortable setting, and what they can do to encourage her rather than discourage her." If I'd been there, I would have kissed her on the spot. I'm a little embarrassed that it takes a third party go-between to tell my child's teacher that I don't think she's seeing my child's abilities or needs clearly. But since I'm still learning to trust myself and be Anonybabe's advocate, I won't turn down any support along the way.