Katie Rose’s chronological first birthday is fast approaching. Of course, she’s not really a one year old. Her “corrected” age, as they say, is about eight months (this counts from when she would have been born had she been full term).
Developmentally, depending on what specific aspect you are looking at, she’s roughly in the seven to ten month range. Her gross motor skills are the biggest single issue. Since she has no mobility, she’s either put down or carried everywhere. This is frustrating her, but she’ll be getting some physical therapy to help. It’s clear that she’ll be very happy when she can lift up her torso, and begin to crawl.
Still, any excuse for a party is good. I think Katie is kicking up her heels with glee because she knows it’s her first birthday party soon. Katie is so full of life.
For me, remembering back a year brings a frisson of acknowledgement of how thin the membrane is that separates life and death. Katie was poised on the razor’s edge between life and death for longer than I care to think.
Katie Rose is a miracle and stands for hope against all odds. But there’s an alternate universe out there in which I’m a widower with three boys, and Katie is dead, or a vegitable. So I am counting my manifest blessings.