Squigglewormin'

A lot of people have told me lately that all they see Ava do is sleep.  And I'll acknowledge that they're right.  That is usually the portion of her day they get to witness.  

When we emerge from the house or the church nursery, she's usually plastered to my chest like a moth on a windshield, arms spread, mouth agape, journeying ever deeper into dreamland.  

And I allow it, because the rest of the time, she's training like Hugh Jackman.  So far, she has speech therapy twice a week, developmental therapy once a week, and six dozen opportunities a day to play in ways that make her stronger.

This doesn't mean we've enrolled her in baby boot camp.  We aren't imitating the  strictly regimented childhood of a communist Olympian. What we are attempting to do is to help Ava Leigh realize her physical, mental, and social capabilities.  If she believes that she can accomplish even more than what is medically expected of her, we think that everything we can do to support that drive is the least she is owed.  That support begins with structure.

Her daily routine reflects a parenting philosophy I've picked up from the engaged, mindful mommies I admire: Play hard, Eat well, Sleep deeply, Give and receive constant affection.  

Ava's therapy figures heavily into this equation, affecting all the above.  Through therapy, she learns to keep her focus for extended periods of time, to move and react in ways which improve her ability to function and feed, and to accept people other than Mommy, Daddy, or Bradley Cooper.

Since we have to schedule our days around therapy and church (add to this the factor of living twenty miles from everything -- not that this hermit's complaining), this means we have to be fairly disciplined in regard to her schedule.  So if Ava is sucking her fingernails off to demonstrate it's dinner time, I don't want her to waste precious energy squalling over an empty tummy.  I always keep an extra pre-measured bottle on hand. When it's time for a nap, we find a quiet nook and rock-a-bye, she's out.  Hence the snoozing spider monkey pose at church.  

So far, the little squirrel has surprised everybody with her progress -- Mommy and Daddy included.  She's able to hold her head up with increasing steadiness, and seems to be growing out of the Stevie Wonder head wobble she did while she was struggling to right herself.  I can carry her around the house now with my arm around her middle and a hand poised to gently steady her.  Sometimes I have to guard myself from becoming too casual about this pose, because she's getting to the age where she likes to throw things -- including herself.  If I don't watch it, when Ava sees something that interests her, she'll put all of her oomph into pitching herself at said object.  As you may well imagine, this has resulted in a heart attack or two.

But if a few cardiac episodes is what it costs to have an active daughter, then hand me the pen.  I'll pay up front.  We will never take Ava's progress for granted.  We're thoroughly enjoying watching our little squishpot becoming quite an inchworm.... Look out world.  And look out, Honey Boo Boo Dog. Your days of napping unbothered on the easy chair are numbered.....