More gratitude - The sun has come out again

Checking out the toys

Y'all know that J is small and developmentally delayed. And y'all know that some of that is from his prematurity, and some is from the long undiagnosed renal tubular acidosis.

Saying he's "developmentally delayed" is harder than admitting he's small. I want to strike it out with all the "BUT"s of his life. "BUT he's trying so hard, BUT he's almost up to 50 words. BUT you wouldn't know it looking at him. BUT he's not THAT behind, BUT it's from the lethargy of undiagnosed RTA." But no BUT will remove the delays from his chart, not yet.

We had an appointment with the developmental pediatrician today to check up on these issues and get an overall sense of progress.

Winter gray lifted and the sun showed through scattered white clouds the full there and home again. I knew the sun would come back again, eventually.

As he played in the waiting room, another girl, just his height, came and joined us. He viewed her with cautious curiosity, and she saw him as an instant friend. They played side-by-side for a while, and then she jumped up on a table that was just above waist height for her. He regarded this with some surprise.

"Learning bad habits, are you, buddy?" I said to J.

"Oh, get down from there! You're teaching him bad habits!" the other mom echoed to her daughter.

"It's okay," I said, "He doesn't have the strength to do that. And, honestly, if he did, I'd be thrilled."

Because the two looked like twins in height and build, the next question was inevitable.

"How old is he?"

"Oh, certainly older than she is." I said, "He's a tiny guy."

She nodded at my redirection and turned to her daughter. But, looking at them side by side, exactly the same height and playing so similarly, curiosity got the best of me, too.

"So, how old is she?" I asked.

"Almost two," her mom beamed.

"Ah!" I said, and then, because it would be rude not to share, "He'll be three in July."

"Wow, he IS itty-bitty!" she replied.

But do you know what? The comment didn't sting. Through that entire interaction, watching him with an almost-two-year-old who was clearly stronger than him but not THAT different, I couldn't help but smile with gratitude. "She's an almost-two-year-old." I thought, "That means he looks like an almost-two-year-old and he acts like an almost-two-year-old. He might look like a two year old before he turns three!" I thought, "And he's getting so strong,"

Our conversation stopped there as the nurse called us in. Jonathan heard her call and walked HIMSELF out of the waiting room (a first), head held high with the confidence of a toddler who knows where he was going. I followed him, still smiling, thinking of the little girl.

In the doctor's office, he paraded himself around the room with glee. I marveled that his rib cage was no longer visible. Four months ago I had to keep him strapped in the stroller to keep his hands off the dirty floor. This time around he never once tried to crawl. He was terribly helpful with his physical, showing the developmental pediatrician how to use the alligator hammer to check his reflexes, and reminding her that a fun looking twirly wire connected the fundoscope to the wall. What a difference from the lethargic stares of last spring. So grateful.

He weighs nearly 9.5 kilos (20.75 lbs) and is 31.25 inches. He's still off (below) all the charts for height and weight by age, and he's sitting right around the 5% weight-for-height ratio, but that's really good compared to a year ago, on all accounts. Our weight goal is 10 kg by April -- a goal that seemed impossible when we set it last fall, but he is getting there. Ah, gratitude.

The developmental pediatrician commented on his muscle tone. "I have written here from our last visit 'low muscle tone in ankle,'" she said, "but he's not any more." She gushed. I'm overjoyed.

The endocrinologist doesn't think J has any hormone related ailments. The GI doctor thinks he looks great and confirmed that NEC was likely the cause of his zinc deficiency, which is an answer to that question. Both specialists have one more follow up appointment (one four months out, one a year out), but in both cases, I think that just may be the last we see of their offices.

We've seen huge gains with the in-home physical and occupational therapists over the last two months (it's hard to believe it's only been that long) and so at today's appointment we arranged for him to switch to inpatient therapy after he's out of isolation. I was reminded that April was just around the corner.

I could climb this -- if I wanted to.

The drive to inpatient therapy is not short, and it'll mean weekly appointments in the Big City, but this boy is taking off -- and it seems for the first time in a long time that "catching up" might just be a thing for him. It will be a while yet, but we are so grateful.

These amazing developments (well, other than the emergence of the sun) brought to you in part by nephrologists, fixers of the kidneys, and by bicitra, the medicine that is correcting J's renal tubular acidosis. This month is national kidney month. We remember you this month, kidneys. Thank you for keeping us alive, giving us energy, and helping us pee -- all year round.