Eyes Wide Open

For the longest time, my daughter could simply not be bothered by the intricacies of the world around her.  It was none of her concern.  She had her own world, after all...what did she need all of this extra stuff for? 

Eyes constantly downcast, she moved about her world alone for nearly three years.

And then, miracle of miracles, we found something that works for her.  Since starting OT (and, later, hippotherapy), she's a completely different little girl.

Eyes wide open, she engages the bulldogs in games where she crawls between their legs and their resulting kisses make her giggle almost to the point of happy little tears.  She makes eye contact with my reflection in the mirror, obviously being able to distinguish the reflection from the real thing. 

She looks us in the eye.

And not just The Hubbs and me.  We recently saw a few family members for the first time in a month or two, and the first thing they said - seriously, before even saying hi - was how much her eye contact had improved.

When you're flying by the seat of your pants, running from therapy to therapy in the hopes that just one of these things might possibly help your kid at some point, it's easy to get caught up in the chaos of it all.  I'd been noticing positive changes since our very first OT session, but I could never be sure if I was imagining them or not.  Until someone else said something.

And everyone has been noticing it lately.  It's not just me.  She's improving. 

My little girl is finally acting like a two-year-old.  She is extremely alert, and is noticing every little detail around her. 

Like the wallpaper border in her room...the one I painstakingly put up months before she was born, obsessing to make sure it was level and that you couldn't see the seams.  The one she's studiously ignored for almost three years.  Now there are huge, gaping eight-foot sections missing. 

Or the yarn that Mommy is using for her ever-present crochet projects.  Once an unimportant peripheral detail, this is now the stuff of legendary fun.  She steals balls of yarn, squealing with delight as I chase her across the house in a feeble attempt to retrieve the yarn before the ball becomes a bird nest.

Or the fact that when we're in the car, she seems to know where we're going.  After a certain point, she can tell if we're going to Grumma and Grumpa's house.  I never have to guess when that is, because she starts singing a happy little tune every time.  When we turn onto the street where our OT clinic is located, she signs "play" emphatically, and jettisons herself out of the car and to the door at a world-record pace...the moment I pull the parking brake.  This past week, just the second time we had visited Bear for hippotherapy, she did a huge happy dance in her car seat when we pulled into the farm's driveway.

I'm taking a cue from my daughter, and vow to move forward with my eyes wide open.  I sure wouldn't want to miss a single moment of this beautiful chaos.