“She’s doing quite well you know. I’ve seen babies who’ve had cytomegalovirus and they were blind, deaf and seriously disabled. There are so many encouraging things about Evelyn here.”
It’s at this point that the CMV, which I’d dismissed, becomes much more real to me. I’d been told, months back, after her CMV urine tests came back positive for recent infection antibodies, to not concern myself. Most babies who have CMV don’t have any issues you see. Especially babies with clear brain ultrasounds and a clean MRI.
Later, the physio mentions to not expect Evelyn to do anything on a normal time frame. That she’s happy, she’s gorgeous (everyone loves my baby) and she’s easily pleased. What does it matter if she doesn’t crawl or walk within the average ranges? I’m warned to “warm the baby up” before we attempt anything. Evelyn needs more tactile stimulation before she will engage. Her hands need to be touched and stroked and made to feel things before she’ll use them of her own accord.
I’m told again, that she is gorgeous and happy and a lovely baby.
I’m also told that she is acting somewhere around the three month mark, despite being six months corrected and almost seven months old. Later, I will realise that she’s been acting like a three month old baby for the last three months and that it’s okay, it really is, but what happens in another six months, when progress is this slow?
We walk out of there knowing that this baby, our darling smooshy cheeked infant, she needs lots of therapy to learn to use her body properly. That there will be a specialised highchair in our future, and lots of exercises and busyness.
I cuddle my daughter and kiss her cheeks and listen to her giggle in delight. I watch her chew on her feet (“look at that! That’s age appropriate there, feet chewing. She’s interested, isn’t she?”) and coo at her brother and play with the new baby toys I bought her to encourage more tummy time and rolling over.
I look at her and she’s just delightful. Delay or not.