Miss Banana had her evaluation with the physical therapist (Ms. Large Moves) today during her OT appointment. Miss Banana did fabulous (except she refuses to roll during any therapy session even though she rolls constantly at home); she held her head well, good arm extensions, good stabalization, good baby sit-ups, etc. Ms. Large Moves was all praise and just kept saying how fabulous my little lady was doing as she went through the evaluation. Which, for me, is always nice to hear--I mean who doesn't like hearing that their kids are awesome??
Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about where Miss B is in her gross motor development until we got to the end and Ms. LM scored the evaluation. The result? 5 months. Miss Banana is at the stage a 5 month old would be. Except, she's almost eight months old.
The OT and PT were praising her and saying how awesome 5 months is--which it IS, I mean, Miss B could hardly move for the first 3 months of her life without losing weight, so I know I should be ecstatic that she is as far as she is. And usually I am--its just when I hear the darn numbers, that I feel bummed that she isn't doing more, progressing faster, you know--rockin' the socks off all the charts.
I know that the numbers don't REALLY matter.
But KNOWing that, and being able to accept it and let go of all the numbers and age ranges for milestones are two very different things. It's easier to let it go and not care about when she gets to certain stages when we are at home, in the day-to-day of life. But when I lay her down next to a baby that is 3 months younger than her and they are doing the same things--or when a professional flat out tells me she is 3 months behind, I get this moment of competiveness where I feel like I have to make excuses for Miss B or that I have to start doing more and I'm disappointed that we aren't farther along.
After I get over that moment, the guilt comes that I even HAVE those thoughts because I know I just need to let Miss Banana be who she is going to be. I have to get over the fact that there will be delays in her development and that it is okay. And some days, I'm there. But when I hear the exact amount her delay--when it is quantifiable--I'm still thrown.
Then I get caught in the mental guilt battle of:
Am I pushing? vs. Am I encouraging?
Am I doing enough? vs. Am I doing too much?
Am I letting Miss Banana be herself? vs. Am I projecting myself onto her?
Why do I care about the numbers?!?
I hate the numbers.
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