Speaking of Eva...

Eva, while an extremely early talker and general wordsmith (the other day she told me that there were "a plethora of apples" at the grocery store), has always been a bit behind the curve with her gross motor skills. When she wasn't really cruising by 15 months, her pediatrician in Ohio recommended physical therapy to help her master walking. It was just the ticket. Eva loved her therapist, I learned some exercises to do with her at home, and she walked at 17 months.

Then there was this blur that was getting the job in Richmond, moving, getting pregnant with Silas, buying a house, moving, and Silas' birth. I kept half an eye on the fact that she was still a bit behind her peers on the playground, but I kept expecting that she would catch up. And she does, in fits and starts-- just last week, for example, she started running a little bit faster. The fact remains, however, that she still can't jump, and she can't alternate her feet going up and down stairs, and those things concern me.

Today we had a physical therapy evaluation, which Eva perceived as a couple of really friendly ladies with cool toys having her run and climb on things. I felt my heart sinking a little bit, though, as several times I could tell what they were trying to get her to do, and she just couldn't do it.

My instinct was that she was about a year behind her peers just based on who she most resembles on the playground (the two year olds rather than the three year olds), and it turns out I was correct. We're going to be back in physical therapy, which is largely a relief to me. I know she needs help, but all my attempts to trick her into dance parties a la Kriss Kross get met with folded arms and furrowed brows. "Why are we always jumping?" she wants to know. "Because the Mac Dad makes you" isn't getting me anywhere.

Here's the thing, though-- it appears that she pronates rather severely, especially with her right foot, and that's preventing her from developing the strength she needs to move forward (literally). The therapist has recommended that she wear foot/ankle braces.

I saw pictures of them, and they're pretty discreet. They come in all sorts of ridiculous designs, like soccer balls and ladybugs and breakfast food, and although I feel sure she's going to resist wearing them, she'll definitely like choosing a pattern. But I can't help but feel weird about this. It's kind of like I got on a train going in the right direction, but it's moving way too fast, all of a sudden. I didn't expect braces, no matter how small they are.

It's hard to process.

P.S. Silas, my poor, blog-neglected ray of sunshine-- you are such a happy boy, and you deserve about a dozen posts of your own. You're six months old now, for crying out loud! The Internet is starved for your chubby cheeks. To be continued!