Wow, at the risk of sounding incredibly cliche, I can't believe how quickly these last 6 months have flown by.
Her six month appointment went well, status quo. Pretty easy to have an uneventful regularly scheduled check up when you've had 4 other appointments in the last two weeks. Head specialists, a check for a blue lip (which she bruised getting her mouth into an overly aggressive Popeye sneer), urgent care for blue feet and hands (supposedly immature circulatory issue, somewhat normal and didn't warrant the advice nurse's "We need to see her TODAY" fear inducing comment, and physical therapy, which I'll get to later. So yesterday was just dandy. She's still short and fat (weight 50th percentile, height is 25th) just like her mama. All is good. She now hates the doctor and screams, which is pleasant for everyone. She certainly doesn't take after her mom there. I'm probably more comfortable in a doctor's office than anywhere else. Especially when I get to keep my pants on! (If you didn't follow my infertility blog you might find that comment a little off, but trust me, it's appropriate.)
Sabrina had her first physical therapy appointment this week as well. It went pretty well, was quite interesting to say the least. Her neck isn't terrible, but we're going to work on some stretches, but most importantly we're working on getting her to stay off of her head - basically working to make her more mobile. She totally lacks upper body strength. When she pushes herself up on her tummy, it's with her elbows scrunched underneath her, not with her arms extended. According to the physical therapist, her aversion to push ups is not hereditary as I claimed, so we're working on that. More than anything, we need to work on her tummy muscles and getting her to use her core to balance. Smothering parents that we are, we hold her a lot and hold her while she's sitting up and we don't let her practice sitting on her own enough. We do floor time every evening, but truly it's just a matter of time before I grab her and smother her with kisses. As a result, we now have to trek to physical therapy every two weeks. Which wouldn't be bad if she didn't shriek like a banshee during the appointment.