Eleven months. Seriously. I’m not kidding. One month shy of a whole year.
I’m going to say this now so that I’m not a party pooper on her actual birthday: it really doesn’t feel like it should be so close. And not just in the usual “time flies” way, though that’s always true. I just have such a disconnect between Ellie, the little person in my life, and the day that this baby was born. Obviously I remember it very clearly. But the ten weeks that followed were so surreal, my memory of March and April of 2011 will always be warped. She didn’t even come home until May. So to think of celebrating in the middle of winter is kind of strange. Plus, developmentally-speaking, she’s not doing the kinds of things that other nearly-one-year-olds are doing. I don’t feel like I have an almost-toddler on my hands, the way I would otherwise expect of an 11-month-old.
THAT SAID…
The upside of being told in the hospital that your baby could potentially have very significant developmental delays and perhaps permanent deficits? Every time she makes a new leap forward, every time she does something sort-of-normal, it’s cause for celebration. (Remember that line from Say Anything…? “Start out depressed and then everything is a pleasant surprise.”) When we were still in the hospital, and they suggested that there may be gross motor issues of TOTALLY UNKNOWN severity, I silently wondered things like, “maybe we should move to a one-story house in case she never walks and needs to be in a wheelchair.” Had I voiced that thought, I can tell you the doctors would have just looked at me and shrugged. They had no way of knowing which way it would go, either.
But my girl? My girl wants to be on the move.
Sitting up and rolling over are old news, she’s a total pro. While she can’t yet get herself up to a sit, she can go from sitting down to her belly with increasing speed, purpose, and grace. While on her belly, she now uses her arms to pivot around, and sometimes ends up pushing herself backwards until her legs are stuck under the couch. Between the pivots and the rolling, I can no longer assume she’s going to be right where I left her. That photo up there? I put her down on the quilt in the foreground, sitting up. She managed to get herself over to the TV somehow. It ain’t fast, but she moves.
In physical therapy, we’re working hard on getting more strength in her legs, hips, shoulders, and arms in the hopes of getting her to crawl. With as good as she is at sitting, we need to have her on her belly more so that she can learn to crawl before she learns to just scoot around on her butt. The physical therapists swear up and down that, once babies learn to do a seated scoot, it’s nearly impossible to teach them to crawl. So we spend time on her belly and try to scoop those knees up underneath her instead of being splayed like a little froggie.
But coolest of all, in the last week I can see her try to pick those little hips up on her own. Her stamina is improving almost every day, getting stronger and steadier in those hips and shoulders, kicking those legs, bouncing that little body.
I don’t know how long it will take, but my girl is going to crawl.
How awesome is that?
My big, awesome, 11-month-old girl. My munchkin, my pumpkin pie. What a joy you are. Happy almost-birthday.
























But the fact of the matter is that I have two mobile-but-not-steady kids who don’t take direction and haven’t entirely figured out that you can’t crawl straight off of surfaces 3 (or 6 or 10) feet above the ground.
I let them sleep for a few and tried to relax and listen to the radio and check my email on my 












