At our house, the sort of a little person who is a round, soft, squeezable, and pink little person is called a Shmoo.
This little Shmoo…
…learned in a few days how to position herself correctly in her walker by pulling up to stand holding onto it, and then deliberately turning herself around to face outward.
In the same few days, she learned how to turn her walker to go around a corner. Miss Rose, the physical therapist, teaches the mama how to teach her, but it wouldn’t work if she wasn’t one motivated little Shmoo.
She knows her next goal is to stand alone. She takes great glee in trying very hard to balance herself.
She’s getting stronger and more coordinated all the time.
And that’s good, because she’s still growing. The child who “won’t grow because of her disability” is 37 x 37 now. She’s 37 inches tall and weighs 37 pounds, and by gum, at eleven years old she’s learning to walk.
“Because of her disability,” indeed.
Speaking of growing…
Little Shmoo, are you hungry? It’s time to eat!
Walk, walk, walk to your highchair!
It’s time to put your bib on!
And say, “Thank You, God…”
“…for yummy supper to eat. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Did I mention the word squeezable? “Mama has a Katie; Katie has a mama,” sings the mama to her Shmoo.
P. S. Once upon a time, a mama made matching flannel nightgowns for her two little girls, ages seven and four. She tucked them away in the attic, just in case God would send her any more little girls. And now she’s glad she did. Because He did!