The Botox shot in his right hand has done a nice job of loosening it up, and he's been spontaneously using it to lift more things. Score! The Botox to his salivary gland hasn't had a real effect on the drooling, though, so we'll have to consider other options. Tomorrow, the serial casting starts. There's no purple kind available, I've been told, but I've got a bunch of Purple Sharpies. I just sent out Dave to buy Max a new purple truck to distract him. "If there's no purple truck, just find anything fun that's cool and purple," I said, and so Dave is currently on a purple hunt in Target.
Max is also progressing with reading, and getting into spelling. The other day, he pointed to the letter "g" in a sign and then to my green shirt. He was telling me he knew "green" began with a "g." I'm loving it. I'm high on it.
So I've been all sorts of focused on Max's muscles and limbs and brain power. I haven't given much thought, if any, to his emotional maturity. I just couldn't let myself get concerned about it—too many other worries on my list. It was something I figured would happen over time, and it has.
In the past year, Max has grown less fearful of visiting new places and trying new activities. He gets upset when I tell him he's misbehaved. He gives his little sis this "What's your problem?" look when she's having a tantrum. He gets concerned by crying. When my mom called in the middle of the night a few months ago to tell me that my dad had died and I sobbed, Max was there, and he couldn't stop kissing me.
Over the weekend, we were at Max's favorite place in the whole wide world, a beach condo we go to during the summer. Max has, historically, wailed whenever we've left. Perhaps you've heard him? He'll traditionally start the second he sees me packing up our bags, and not let up till we're a half hour down the highway. It makes going home so pleasant.
Only here's what happened this time around. It started when I put a packed bag filled with the kids' clothes in the kitchen, and stepped away for a minute. When I came back, it was gone. I looked in the bedroom. Max had dragged the bag in there and was quickly tossing clothes into an open drawer.
"Max!" I said. He looked up with a devilish grin on his face, and then we both laughed hysterically.
When we drove away, Max got a little weepy. "I know, Max, you don't want to go home," I said. "Me either. We'll come back soon, OK?"
And just like that, he quit sniveling and nodded his head.
Max has fallen a little behind with his walking because of his tight right foot. He's moving ahead with the emotional maturity.
A few steps forward, a few steps back: That's how it goes, right?