Pardon our dereliction from blogging, but the old saw is true: No news is good.
Medically, there's delightfully little to report. Hopesy's cold seems to have run its course. A follow-up visit Thursday with the venerable Dr. Spitenup went so well that we don't have to see him again for a few months. His manner is strange, but we've become grudging fans of the speckled-haired specialist. That's mostly because what he's said so far is true: If Hope is pooping, she's happy. If she's not, ay caramba. Sometimes, life is just that simple.
Socially, Hope is going gangbusters. We marked her fifth month a few days ago with wonder. In some ways, it seems like the months have flown. In others, they've crawled. But there's no denying Hope's progress. She's doing incredible things for a 6 1/2 pound girl, becoming more expressive daily, laughing like the dickens, grabbing everything in sight, removing her beloved binkie from her mouth and plopping it back in, holding up her neck and going to town with tummy-time. She's still mostly where she should be on the growth curve, which is a testament to her and her Mom. She who works with Hope with all the determination and grit of a Hungarian gymnastics coach cajoling a 9-year-old over the pummel horse. Hope's occupational therapist was wowed at her progress Wednesday after a two-week gap.
Bureaucratically, life is slow. We're finally meeting with her ear-nose-throat specialist on Monday in hopes of kick-starting surgery to fit Pippi with hearing tubes. She's at the point now where conductive hearing loss is becoming critical. Six months is about the cut-off point for intervention before it affects development.
The paperwork chain to enroll in the genetic study of parents with multiple children with CdLS is glacial. The point man to coordinate communication between three hospitals is our old friend the geneticist. He's just now submitting reports about her diagnosis that were due three months ago. We've known the doctor for three years. He's kind, warm and a tremendous help. He's also methodical to the point of paralysis. Every day, I suspect he goes to the hospital cafeteria and expounds on the comparative merits of macaroni and cheese vs. tuna sandwiches before handing the cook a six-page memo explaining why he would like a side of cole slaw.
So we wait. And that's OK. Many days, like this morning, it's such a joy to see Hope squirming and giggling that you feel like skipping in air. It's corny. But true. I guess that's parenthood.