I wasn't sure Deak was 100% today, he wasn't terrible, but just kinda seemed a little off.
I cruised in the door from work, snagged he and Abby and began the trek to Shriner's for our biweekly physical therapy appointment.
I walked inside Shriner's carrying my 40 lb little big dude, because I did not have time to think about putting the stroller inside the car, and made it a mere five minutes late. Which is pretty much considered "on time" in my world's clock.
Mark, Deak's therapist, set up an awesome game with a real bowling ball and pins to encourage Deak to stand up from a sitting position and move his body forward, stepping if necessary.
Deak was a butt head.
He screamed bloody murder for the first 15 minutes, the only exception being each time the ball hit the pins and made a crashing sound.
Deak's therapist and I questioned his health and wondered if he just wasn't going to be into tonight.
It totally sucks when Deak isn't "into" it because it is such an investment of time and energy just getting there.
I was ready to be done.
I know I've done it a million times, but I don't care what kind of steel your awesome mom suit is made of, a screaming child can only happen for so long before your heart just hurts.
Deak's therapist said, "Let's just try one more thing."
I reluctantly agreed, already having moved closer to Deak in an attempt to pick him up and carry him home.
Something changed.
Maybe the new toy, maybe Deak's choice to give in rather than fight...
Whatever the reason was, he decided to cooperate.
Deak sat in his little red plastic chair, stood up and grabbed the table to stabilize himself in order to play with the toy the therapist had placed just outside of his reach.
He made it easy at first...
and then gradually pushed the chair back....
Deak is no dummy; He'd instantly recognize when the chair was placed to the point where his arm span could not reach the table without movement forward.
Then, he'd whine about it.
And then he'd turn his little head towards my direction and his eyes would look at me and say, "Really mom? Really? You're going to make me do this crap myself?"
Mostly, he gave up.
But, then....he didn't.
He stood up, quickly stepped forward with his right foot, and then grasped onto the table as if he was holding on for dear life.
One little tiny step.
One little tiny step that I was told he would never take.
One little tiny step that stole my heart and stirred my soul.
I turned to the therapist and said with welling tears, "He did it. He took a step. That was his very first one."
The therapist's smile may have been bigger than mine.
I am realistic about this step. I understand it will take time for this little beginning to become a big ending.
But this ride...this ride of hope that this boy has brought me on...is worth every single second.
My boy can walk.
He.can.walk.
(The first time I saw him)
From this...
...to this.
We are doing it again, and we are so excited.
We hope you will join us May 12th for a morning of filled with the kind of hope only this little dude has to give.
