When I stop to think about it, it kind of blows my mind.

With my older kids, I have really wanted to make a point of letting them listen to their own bodies to know if they’re hungry or full.  I have my own life-long issues with food, and I’m hoping their relationship with it can be a little better than mine. I didn’t go to great lengths to get them to finish their bottles as infants, but when I saw they polished off a quantity with ease, I might start pouring larger amounts. I don’t insist that they clear their plates at dinner. If they tell me they feel full, they are welcome to be excused from the table. If they’re still hungry, they can have more.

Ellie is a different thing, entirely.  She was sent home on one quantity, which we stuck with too long and her growth slowed down.  So we upped it, somewhat dramatically. Her weight gain took off. Everyone was happy, they love to see a baby gain weight. Hooray, weight! Except… she’s quite small, length-wise. She comes in under the first percentile for length, yet she’s close to the 50th percentile for weight. I know everyone loves a chubby baby, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’re basically (gently, and with all good intentions) force-feeding her.  Way more than her body might actually want.  While she doesn’t protest her feedings in any way, I will also point out that I have (twice, oops) forgotten a feeding and done it more than an hour and a half late. She didn’t make the slightest fuss, could have cared less.  Weird, right?

To add to the confusion, we see so many darn doctors, no one quite wanted to take the lead on telling us how much to feed her. Finally, this week, we had our first appointment with the Pediatric GI doctor.  Finally, someone who was willing to make the call on weaning off of the high-calorie formula. And while Ellie technically gained the exact amount of weight “they” like to see for a baby her age (30 grams per day for the last month), the fact that she isn’t getting taller at a comparable rate would seem to suggest that maybe her body just doesn’t want to grow that fast.  So, we’re backing off a little (don’t want to overreact, obviously), and will check in again in a month.

We also finally had an appointment with someone from the Feeding Team, a Speech-Language Pathologist who has seen Ellie since her first swallow study.  Unfortunately, once it was decided that we were taking the surgery route, the behavioral side of the feeding equation was all but dropped. We were more than two months post-op before actually seeing the SLP, who was clearly disappointed that we’ve made no attempts at oral feeds in all that time. Not critical of me, exactly, more frustrated that the ball had been dropped in all of the medical hoopla.

Believe me, I am frustrated, too. The thing about having a baby in the hospital, especially for an extended period of time and one who comes home with unusual needs, is that it’s easy to find yourself in a very passive position as a parent. You’ve gotten so used to the doctors being in charge, you just assume they’re going to continue to tell you what you need to do, when you need to do it.  The truth is, doctors and hospitals have lots of patients, and are not going to have the urgency about your own kid that you wish they would. That’s not really meant as a knock on our many wonderful doctors. It’s just the simple truth that you need to be a squeaky wheel if you want anything done in a reasonable amount of time.

All of that is to say that I went to Target and bought a few bottles today. Starting this weekend, we will be (re-)introducing Ellie to bottles. Every day, I’ll put a couple of ounces of thickened formula in a bottle and give Ellie 10 minutes or so to do with it what she likes.  At this point, she has pretty much lost what was once an unconscious reflex to suck and swallow. She has to learn it all over again.  So when I give her this bottle, I have zero expectations. She can chew on it, she can push it out of her mouth, she can chew on it some more. The first goal is to simply get her used to this strange thing being in her mouth, to try to make it a familiar and comfortable feeling. She’s got a rather sensitive gag reflex, so it’s all about going slow and keeping it positive.

It’s going to be a long, slow, probably immensely frustrating road as we work towards “normal” eating. I don’t know whether we’ll ever get there, or if we do, how long it will take. But it at least feels good to take some first steps.

But even that single piece of the puzzle is a little hard to explain. In a nutshell, she has never taken feeds well by mouth, and was aspirating liquids when she tried. In addition, she has extreme reflux, which makes it darn near impossible to keep much of anything in her stomach (and is also a nasty deterrent any time she tries a bottle – it all comes right back up). So, she no longer takes anything at all by mouth, and is tube-fed straight into her intestine, bypassing the stomach.  To that end, she is having surgery on Monday. She’ll have a g-tube placed to deal with the fact that she can’t feed adequately by mouth, as well as a procedure called a “fundoplication” to tighten the opening between the stomach and esophagus, to deal with the reflux.  I can barely express the degree to which we tried to avoid the surgical option, but here we are. At least it’s a ticket home. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say about life with a g-tube baby in the weeks and months to come.

After all this time and the unbelievable number of tests she’s had done, Ellie has no single, consistent, comprehensive diagnosis. She remains, for the most part, a collection of unusual symptoms and characteristics. Now with a few inconclusive test results thrown in. While the feeding problems are our current focus, it’s entirely possible that they are simply a symptom of something else.

One of the things the doctors picked up on from day 1 is that she has very low tone. Not in the extremities – her arms and legs move pretty well and are reasonably strong.  No, she has low tone in her trunk. Even as a one-day-old newborn, she couldn’t pull her head up the way you’d expect an infant to do. That is still the case at two months old. While most babies are starting to gain some control over those big noggins of theirs (and Ellie’s is bigger than most), hers still flops backwards alarmingly and is only showing slow, small improvement. Is the feeding trouble related to this? Maybe, since the low tone also seems to affect the smooth muscle of her organs (like the stomach). Sure. Possibly. No one can or will say anything definitive.

The low tone seems to (maybe? we think?) be a neurological issue.  Or maybe a genetic one? Let me tell you something about genetics and neurology – these are two specialties that like to run LOTS and LOTS of tests, and then say, “well, we’re not sure. We’ll just have to wait and see how she develops.”  Yeah, that’s the best I’ve gotten over the last two months.  Of all the tests, she had two come back with some kind of abnormal result. She had an MRI that showed “simplified folding” in her brain, but neuro is hesitant to say what that might mean.  And she had a chromosomal study that showed a duplication in one small piece of one chromosome.  Genetics, shockingly, is also hesitant to make any grand statements. Both departments, however, are fascinated by Ellie and want to follow her as she grows. Lucky us?

The area affected in the MRI result might relate to gross motor or cognitive development. Maybe. The genetic duplication has shown some correlation to Autism Spectrum disorders or developmental delays. But we all remember the first lesson from statistics class: correlation does not imply causation. It’s possible our entire family has the same duplication, and you’d never know if you didn’t have this test done. Also, the two test results are not necessarily connected to one another.

I’m sorry, am I being vague? Well, yeah. Welcome to my world.

All I want to know is how this is going to affect my kid, and what that will mean for her life. But, absent a crystal ball, no one can tell me that.  My hunch? I think we will see developmental delays, but I have no idea in what areas or how dramatic. Will she walk at 9 months, at 19 months, or not at all? No idea. Will she have a feeding tube for six months or six years? No idea. Will she talk or read or do multiplication or make jokes? No idea.

She’s a big question mark.  I suppose you could argue that all babies are, that you never know what you’re going to get until it happens.  But when you start out your life with more than two months in the hospital, surgery, and a feeding tube, when you know you’ll need physical and occupational therapy from the moment you get home, and when neuro and genetics find you “interesting?”

Yeah, we’re in for a wild ride.

But let me not forget what is right with my sweet girl.  She is generally pretty mellow, and when she gets upset she is relatively easily soothed. She sleeps for nice stretches of time, even if those stretches are happening during the day instead of at night for the moment. She looks right at you, and if she’s interested, will track with her eyes and move her head to follow an interesting sound (or that pretty baby in the mirror). She passed her hearing test. She likes to chew on her hand. She’s incredibly snuggly.  And if you’re lucky, she’ll give you her sweet, sly smile.

Oh, the smile. It’s elusive. It’s fleeting.  But both my mom and my friend swear they saw it a few weeks ago (while I was in another room pumping, of course).  My husband saw it the next day. It took me a while longer, but I’ve seen it myself. Not just the one in her sleep, and not because she’s got gas. A real, honest-to-goodness social smile.  Not only is it a beautiful thing to see on her sweet face, but dammit, it’s a milestone.  Right. On. Time.

Ellie has her own plan. I just wish I knew what it was.

I first seriously considered stopping about two weeks ago, when my supply officially stopped keeping up and she had her first full formula feed in more than a month.  Seeing the color of formula, not a breastmilk combo, in that syringe pump sent me into an initial wave of tears and had me stepping back. It was so demoralizing to spend so much time and effort on pumping when it wasn’t even enough. Eight times a day, 30 minutes at a time, for that scant two ounces, maybe two-and-a-half on a good day. But sheer volume alone wasn’t quite enough to get me to stop.  I backed off for a day or so, then stepped back in. I wanted to keep going, even if it wasn’t 100% of her nutrition.

But the final death knell for pumping was the combination of our return to the Big Hospital and the big kids being on spring break. Spending that much time attached to the pump went from “challenging” to “ludicrous.” It stopped making sense. I was taking literally hours away from all three of my kids to do it, and was being rewarded with a slowly dwindling supply, anyways.

One of the things that kept me going during previous periods of doubt (oh, and I’ve had plenty in the last two months), was when I asked myself a simple question. If you stop now, will you be able to say, “I did my best?” Before, I never felt like I could say yes to that question.  But today, I’m done with the tears. I’m disappointed, for sure, for a lot of reasons. But I’m done. I did my best.

Stopping isn’t too hard when you never had a gangbusters supply to begin with. I stretched the every-three-hours schedule to every four. Four became five, then six, then seven. Last week was crazy enough that extending the intervals between pumping sessions happened pretty naturally – once I stopped letting my pumping schedule dictate everything else, it took a dramatic backseat to the rest of my life.

I didn’t bother with the “pump just for comfort” advice that everyone gives, because I knew the supply would dry up quickly enough on its own. I’d go six hours, then pump for 35 minutes and still only get 2.5oz. I last pumped at 10PM on Sunday and got a single ounce. It is noon on Monday and I’m not in pain. I’m done.

I’ve saved about a day’s worth in the freezer to give to her next week, for her first feeds post-surgery (yes, she’s having surgery next Monday, more on that soon). I want her to have the stuff that’s easier to digest. But I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep pumping until then. It was time.

So much for the hooter hiders I made. So much for the unused nursing pillow in the closet. So much for my preparation and determination and dreams of breastfeeding redemption. Life had other plans. Ellie had other needs. So it goes.

I lasted the exact same number of days. I’m even publishing this post on her two-month birthday, just like I did three and a half years ago. This time is different for a hundred reasons, but for one, I’m not beating myself up about it. I did my best. I tried again. I’m done.

“How’s Eleanor?”

“Fine. The same. Great, actually. Except for that whole not-eating thing.”

The last 10 days have been the slowest yet.  We were transferred back to our local hospital to… basically… wait.  Just sit and wait.  While she was able to swallow thick liquids at her last swallow study, she did not show any actual inclination to do so. She’d take very small amounts from the bottle, and then her epic reflux would kick in and she’d spit it all back out.  She went on an NG tube, which puts the stuff straight into her stomach, but continued to have bad reflux. She got an NJ tube, which goes even farther than the stomach, putting the formula/breastmilk straight into her small intestine, with the hopes of avoiding the reflux.

It was with this NJ tube that we were sent closer to home, to give her some time to see if the reflux will improve on its own at all.  As for the day-to-day, there’s very little going on.  We go, we visit, we snuggle. We do a little occupational therapy for the major oral aversion she’s developed. We do a little physical therapy, since she spends so much of the day in the bassinet. I put some black & white art cards in her bed so she has something to look at. I sing songs and read Goodnight Moon. But mostly, we just hang out. We don’t get many updates each day, and we don’t expect them.

It’s been a week and a half of this… nothing.  And, sadly, we have no reason to believe the reflux is improving. Despite the fact that all of her feeds actually bypass her stomach, she still manages to gag and spit up at least once or twice a day.

So, this part may soon come to an end. We will be heading back downtown soon, talking with GI about surgical options like a feeding tube and a tightening of the stomach around itself to prevent reflux. Not exactly the kind of excitement I was hoping for to kick us out of these doldrums.  But, on the positive side, at least it’s action, and it should be action that will ultimately get her home.

One of these days.

Why yes. I’m still exclusively pumping. It’s been over a month, and here I sit. Half an hour at a time, eight times a day (down from ten, look at how reasonable I’m being!). Every bottle carefully sealed and labeled with the date and time, refrigerated until it can be delivered to the hospital.  It’s a glamorous thing, believe me.

I’m keeping up (just barely, for now, until she grows and they change the quantity again) with what she’s taking. I believe she has had 100% breastmilk for the last three weeks, and there may be a few spare ounces of buffer in the freezer at the hospital. I’m proud of that, and I don’t mean to belittle it. But despite the herbs and supplements and medication and tricks with the pump, I feel like I’m hanging on by my fingernails, just to keep up.

I was feeling particularly panicky the other day, wondering if my supply was dropping, or if I was actually keeping up, so I decided to start tracking. Oh yes, I made a spreadsheet. And while I absolutely see the crazy-making potential, I was already informally watching the quantities every time, anyways. At least now I have real data.

On the positive side, I was able to see several days worth of keeping up with her intake, with a little bit extra. That was helpful and a little calming. But I was also hoping to see some kind of pattern – maybe one time of day when I seemed to get more or less – so that I could anticipate it and feel a little less defeated when the inevitable “bad pump” happens.  Sadly, no dice. I cannot, for the life of me, discern any rhyme or reason as to why some times I get a lot more, and some times I get a lot less (and by “a lot,” know that we’re only talking a range of maybe 20-30mL, and yes I can still easily measure my output in mL).

If I was breastfeeding on demand, of course, I’d never know any of this. It would fluctuate day to day, the baby would eat more or less often, and that would be that. Not so with the pump. This way, lucky me, I get to evaluate myself every three hours, and see if I make the grade or come up short. And if you think this doesn’t have a major impact on my mood when I see the results, you’ve got another thing coming.

But, for now, I keep going. As I said before, it’s one of the few concrete things I can actually do and provide for Eleanor while she’s in the hospital. And while I do not think formula is evil (I have two healthy, brilliant, amazing kids who were almost 100% formula-fed), I do think that there is something particularly good about breastmilk, and I want to give her as much of it as I can.

But after more than 30 days of this routine, it’s still a big mystery to me.

Today was the repeat test.

She swallowed thick liquids, no problem. Still a little aspiration on the thin, but did great with the thick. She had a nice, strong suck and was able to get a decent volume out of the bottle on her own.

As of today, they started her on bottle-feeds, breastmilk with a thickener. Every three hours, they’ll let her take whatever she likes by mouth, and then give her the remainder of the volume by NG tube.  For her first one, she took almost half. Downright impressive when you realize she hasn’t done ANY for two weeks.

This is progress. SUCH progress, I can hardly tell you. To know that she is making these developmental strides, that even if progress isn’t lightning fast, progress is being made…

Sometimes you don’t realize the extent to which you’re holding your breath until you actually exhale a little bit, or how heavy the load on your shoulders is until it gets lifted.

There are still many steps to go. There may be steps backward, and the ones that go forward won’t be as big or as quick as I wish. She still isn’t home. We still don’t have a diagnosis for what underlying Thing is going on.

But this was a good day, and a very very welcome one.  Thank you for all of the thoughts, prayers, energy, and strength that you sent our way.  I was so proud of my littlest girl today.

But I’m doing it. For now. I obviously want to give my baby what breastmilk I can while she’s in the hospital. And I’m holding out hope that this is a tool, a bridge, a means to help us move to actual breastfeeding when she comes home.

I am trying to apply some lessons learned from last time.  I have been much more religious about my pumping regimen from my first hours in the hospital. Since before I could get out of that bed under my own power, I have been pumping every 2 hours during the day, and every 3 at night. 10 times a day. While I know I wouldn’t be sleeping any more if I actually had a newborn in the house, there is something particularly brutal about the pumping.

And yet, my sad little output continues to come in drips and dribbles. Improving a little, day-by-day, but not as much as it should (think 1-1.5oz total per session, even at 8 days out). Still not enough to provide the amount that she takes on a daily basis in the hospital.  On the recommendation of a lactation-consutant-friend, I’ve ordered some medicine to help increase my supply (online! from New Zealand! it feels so illicit!), and will see if that helps matters.

In the meantime, I’ve got quite the little pumping area going.  I have my hospital-grade rental pump (a Medela Symphony) set up in Eleanor’s room, where I can sit on the glider.  The glider has an extra pillow that helps me sit up straighter and even lean a little forward, since the last thing I want is a single precious drop running out the wrong end of the pump.

I have an excellent hands-free pumping bra, which is a life-changer in so many ways. Not only were my arms and shoulders getting tired from holding the darn things to my boobs for 20 minutes at a time, and not only do I worry about dozing off and dropping the parts onto the floor, but being hands-free lets me multitask.  My iPhone is my constant companion. I set the timer when I turn on the pump so I don’t have to watch the clock. I set the timer when I go to bed so I won’t sleep through the next pumping session.  I check Facebook and Twitter, email and blogs. I play Cut The Rope. I listen to music. Anything but sit and stare at each drop the pump coaxes out.  I even brought up my old laptop. As it is, it takes me 2-3 days to finish a blog post right now, might as well use this 20 minutes of sitting on my butt to get something done.

Pumping this often leaves very little time for, well, anything at all. I spend fully 25% of my waking hours on it, between the actual pumping, storing, and cleaning (yes, I know I don’t have to wash the parts every time, but it’s fast and works with my current routine).  I’m usually left with barely 60-90 minutes to eat, sleep, play with my kids, nap, or maybe leave the house. I can get away with a little longer visit at the hospital, simply because they’ve got a pump there I can use (oh, the glamour).  And yes, if I had her at home, I’d arguably be spending even more time nursing her, since it’s unlikely a newborn would finish the job in a scant 20 minutes. But at least a baby is more portable than a hospital-grade pump.

Ultimately, this is not a routine that is sustainable for me in the long-term. It’s already kicking my ass, barely more than a week into it, and that’s while I have three additional adults in the house for the majority of the day and don’t have to cook dinner. I can only imagine what it will be like when the help goes home and life goes back to (the new) normal.

No, if my efforts at breastfeeding are ultimately unsuccessful, I will not exclusively pump for months on end. With three kids, I simply can’t.  But, for right now, it’s something of a necessary evil. It is what I have to do, for now, to give myself every chance at being able to breastfeed. I have to stack the deck in my own favor as much as I can.

Not to overstate the issue, it is also one of the few things I am actually able to do for Eleanor right now. I can’t spend all day at the hospital with her, and even if I could, it’s not like I could do something particularly proactive to move her progress along.  But I can try to make some milk for her. I do my best, and twice a day, I will bring it to the hospital so they can put it into her bottles. Talk about a bonding experience…

And so, here I sit. I keep it up as best I can. I keep as much humor and perspective as I am able (does anyone have an iPhone ringtone that sounds like a cow moo-ing?).  Some days it gets me down more than others, some days I just kind of shrug and roll with it.

It sucks. But for now, it is what it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a whopping 30 25 minutes left to hit publish, grab some breakfast, and hook up again.

MOO.

Fast-forward, and I have two daring toddlers who have discovered a love for sitting at the table (or, as Daniel says, “peeebow! sit! sit!”  Plus, I have started itching to get rid of the high chairs that seem to collect so much residual nastiness after every meal.

But old table is too small to serve both duties: meal space for the kids and counter space for mom (which is woefully lacking in our not-quite-right kitchen).  A trip to the furniture store, and the ideal table is found. Counter-height, 36 x 48, four chairs with backs. On clearance, no less!  Pick it up in two days.

Big kids enjoying one of their last meals in the high chair (ravioli with pesto).  My, how time flies!  Using utensils, eating real foods.  So big.

After bed, M and I lugged the huge box in from the van, and made friends with a couple of Allen wrenches.  M’s comment: “this is what we take pictures of, now?”

A few hours later, it’s complete. Doesn’t match my kitchen at all, but I could care less. It’s exactly what I was looking for. Though I fear for the scratches and water stains… will have to make some kind of mat/tablecloth.  Still, though, isn’t it lovely? Boosters installed, as the kids are still too short. Four chairs!! Soon, family dinners.

Breakfast time!  New “peeebow.”  Kids got a kick out of it, and didn’t even scratch it up (yet). Daniel pointed out the animals on his new placemat. Rebecca continually reminded me that her cup is blue (“boooo!”). How time flies.  My big kids.

Please add your links (preferrably a link directly to the blog post that contains your video) to Mr. Linky, and play along!  Also, anyone using Vimeo for video hosting is encouraged to join the group I’ve set up for us.

This week’s optional theme is: FOOD!  I also presented a challenge to you: make your clip one minute or shorter.  More on that challenge in a moment, but first…. my video for the week.  Last night was chili night at our house, almost always a hit with Rebecca (Daniel wasn’t into it).  And tons of fun as long as you remember that chili night very quickly becomes laundry night.  Check out how Rebecca has learned to blow on hot food, her commentary on making a mess, and her attention to detail when it’s time to clean up.

Chili Night from Goddess in Progress on Vimeo.

Now, why did I try to have you get your clip in at under a minute? Because I think, here in the blogosphere, many of us suffer from under-editing. Hey, it’s the nature of the beast. “It’s my website, and I can do whatever the hell I want.” And that’s cool.  But what I’m saying is that sometimes you need to consider your audience and edit, edit, edit.

This is especially true in the context of posting video.  Consider your audience.  If you’re sending a video to the grandparents, they probably don’t want you to leave out a single second of your two-month-old’s day.  Just set up a live webcam and they’ll be happy.  But for the blog… let’s put it this way.  I have 120 feeds in my Google Reader that I try to keep up with. I write for three or four blogs.  Oh, and I have two toddlers who need love, attention, snacks, and a ride to gymnastics.  As adorable as everyone else’s kids are, I really only have the available attention for the Cliff’s Notes version when stopping by your blog.

For this video, I started out with more than five minutes of footage of Rebecca eating chili.  Way, way too much. It’s not that interesting, even to me.  But getting it down to 57 seconds wasn’t easy.  I had to keep asking myself: “what’s my point? What story am I trying to tell, and does the entirety of each clip contribute to the story?”  OK, yeah, it’s just a toddler getting chili all over herself.  But you know what I mean.  I had some other bits of Daniel doing funny things with his spoon, and more cute clips of Rebecca blowing on her hot food. I thought they were adorable, and you might even have agreed.  But to keep them all would have made the video too long, and lots of people watching would just have checked out.  This way, I’d like to think, I got my point across before people got completely bored. It’s far from perfect, but that’s what practice is for, right?

Anyways, I called about Daniel.  I had a very odd, specific concern.  Basically, he still drools what seems like an awful lot (though, of course, it slowed down noticeably once I made the call a few weeks ago!).  And he has some difficulty chewing certain foods.  In particular, ones that you can’t just easily mash, but have to really break down with your teeth.  Crackers are no problem, nor are most kinds of fruit.  It’s not that he dislikes crunchy things or smooth things.  But with, say, a piece of tortellini… he’s most likely to mash it up in his mouth (getting out the yummy filling) and then spit out the actual pasta if it’s even the slightest bit al dente.  And it’s not a question of dislike.  He’ll ask for more tortellini (or clementine wedge, or grape, etc.).  And he eats a reasonable amount of food, is gaining weight, etc etc.  It’s not a huge problem, and I honestly suspected that we probably would not qualify for EI services.  But I just wanted it to get checked out and maybe get some suggestions for how to work on it.

So, three women came to my house this morning.  All very friendly, all fairly young.  Basically, two of them played with Daniel while the third asked me some health history-type questions.  It was fascinating to watch.  Each toy or object they’d bring out of the bag was designed to get at a particular behavior.  See if he’d do pretend play, model behavior, stack blocks, match shapes.  As far as he was concerned, of course, he was just playing with these nice new people.  He was his usual charming, sociable, talkative self.  There were a few things when they would ask him a question, and I had to stop myself from chiming in “c’mon, buddy, you know that one!”  Especially when it’s something he most definitely knows/understands/is capable of.  But he’s a toddler, and sometimes he’s just going to elect not to participate.  And you can tell those times, because he gives you the Daniel face.  It looks something like this, but with a bit more brow furrowing:

Oh, and when it came time to check on his chewing? I gave him some clementine for a snack, which he always mashes and then spits out.  Except when the nice lady is there watching him.  Then he swallows segment after segment.  Show-off.  Way to make mommy feel silly.

At any rate, at the end of the eval, they will let you know how your child did, basically scoring them at a particular number of months for each developmental area.  So, if he were scoring right on target, that would be 19 months.  He would have to score at 14 months or below to qualify for services.  How did he do?

Gross and Fine Motor Skills: 19 months

Spoken language: 20 months

Receptive (understanding) language: 22 months

Cognition and problem-solving: 24 months

Social interaction: 26 months

Oh, and the feeding/chewing is under the umbrella of “self-care,” where he scored… 19 months.  She did notice the drooling, and said that he does show a little bit of low muscle tone in the lip area, which usually would lead to speech concerns. Not with my chatterbox.  She suggested having him use a straw (which he already does), and try sucking thicker things like yogurt or smoothies.  Also blowing raspberries, buzzing your lips, and trying to blow bubbles are all good for that kind of muscle tone.  For things specific to food, she suggested that we try to work on more foods with mixed textures, which is where he seems to have a hard time.  So try dipping things, like fruit in yogurt or cracker in hummus, or even try eating things like soup that have more than one texture in the same bite.

Yeah.  Basically, my kid rocks.  Obviously, as his mother, I have long suspected it.  But nice to have outside confirmation.   He did particularly well on imitating unfamiliar sounds (zoop! zip!), finding a hidden toy in several different variations, and grouping similar objects together.  He showed good understanding of basic shape puzzles, even if he couldn’t quite get the triangle to fit properly, and did a great job labeling familiar objects with the correct word.  I’m so proud.

All of this is not entirely just to brag about my own kid (though, it’s my blog, so I can do that), but also to say that getting evaluated by Early Intervention was a really good experience.  The people were nice and great with the kids, and gave immediate and helpful feedback even though we didn’t qualify for any ongoing services or therapies.  Birth to age three, people.  If you have any worries, use it!