Hallelujah!

I got two pieces of amazing news yesterday. Considering that I spent New Year's Day watching a Brady Bunch marathon while sick with the second round of stomach flu in two weeks, I figured no good news was coming my way anytime soon! (Incidentally, it was a Jan Brady marathon. Maybe it was the nausea talking, but after 4 or 5 episodes, I realized she was one twisted little girl.)

The first and most important news is that my mom is coming to town at the end of this month to help with the boys and house while Robbie's on a business trip. There have been many, many times this past month that I've curled into the fetal position and said "I want my mommy" - and now I get my wish!!

The second bit of news is that after several months of our vision therapist being MIA, a new therapist called to say she was taking over and we could start services for both boys again. I hadn't bothered to track the old one down because (as my Southern friends would say) she's a very sweet woman, but bless her heart she can't teach worth a damn.

For instance, I had asked her long ago about bringing in a light box to do some of the activities I've seen on other parents' blogs. She said she would look into it, but like everything that went onto her long "I'll look into it" list, I never heard about it again. This new therapist told me - unprompted - about all her goals and activities, including bringing a light box! Finally something is getting accomplished without me having to push and prod.

Talking to this woman reminded me of the time two years ago when our first therapist came to interview me and set up services for Emerson. We were sitting in his nursery and she was rattling off questions while I rocked my sleeping baby in the glider. His white hair was glowing in the cold winter light coming in from the windows, so I tried to focus on that instead of the growing pit in my stomach.

Despite my efforts, the tears came, rolling off my chin and quietly landing in his glowing hair. So quietly in fact that the therapist didn't even notice until she was almost done with the interview. When she finally realized, she stammered out an apology and gave me a sympathetic if confused look. "Sorry, I'm just trying to get used to all this," I said. By the time she left, I was thoroughly embarrassed and overwhelmed and sick to my stomach.

But we've come a long way since then, baby. A long way.