PT

The term "PT" still gives me the shivers. Back in my teens when I was in Uncle Sam's Service, the drill sergeant would wake us at 5am by banging on a garbage can lid with his long black MAGlite for a few hours of PT (Physical Training).

So when I heard Ian had to start PT, I started digging through my closet, looking for a flashlight.

He had his first physical therapy session on Monday. The therapist said that developmentally he's on par with children sans Down syndrome. But she was a little concerned about his hearing. When the therapist made various noises, Ian responded by becoming very still. It may just be his natural disposition to freeze up to try to analyze the noise or it may be that he's struggling to hear it. He passed his hearing test when he was a few days old, but I think we should order another one. Just to be safe.

So I suppose we're about to join the ranks of the few, the proud, the parents who get to watch a stranger twist their children like a pretzel once a week.