I’ve got a confession to make.

During my physical therapy session this week, I gave into my greatest temptation. Again.

I have several therapies each week. Here’s the breakdown. Tuesday is physical therapy. Wednesday is speech therapy. Every other Thursday is developmental therapy. Friday is occupational therapy. And, once a month, I have music therapy. I’m a busy girl. I’m slowly making strides doing things that come naturally to other babies. It just takes me more work. With professional therapists. And lots of equipment.

I like my therapists but some sessions are easier than others. At speech therapy, I just have to eat. Love me a good puree and flake cereal. My developmental therapist is interested in things like texture. So we sit in the grass or pet the dog. She gets all jazzed when I babble or smile. Last week, I banged two toys together and she went crazy. She’s easy to please.

My music therapist is the happiest person in the world. I first met her in the NICU. She would stand at my cribside, strum her guitar, and hum. She knew I loved Disney tunes and I had some of my greatest naps while she sang. Our monthly group sessions via Zoom are a blast. I shake some toys, swing a scarf around, and bang a drum. Simple stuff.

I don’t know my occupational therapist that well, as this therapy has just been added on. We had a blast playing around during my evaluation. She likes to stack toys and knock them over. I’ve got that maneuver down. And I don’t mind staring at myself in a mirror. So I’ve high hopes for these sessions.

That’s leaves physical therapy, the most challenging. It starts at 7:15am every Tuesday, a wee bit early for my taste and before I’ve had breakfast. Laura works me hard. She comes in all smiles but then we get to work. She straps on my abdominal binder which helps trigger my core. She then stuffs me into my hip helpers which prevent hyperflexibility in my hips.

But I’m not always a huge fan of being corseted and wrapped up like a sausage. So I cry. And Laura tries to distract me with toys and songs. I know the drill. Yesterday, nothing was working. I was fussy and refused to be placated. Laura had a trick up her sleeve. She dug into my music therapy kit and found it. My kryptonite. My tangerine tambourine.

This is one of my favorite toys. I love hearing the clinking metal sound. And bashing it on the floor. Over and over again. I looked at it long and hard. If I gave in, she would have me distracted. And I’d have to sit. And stand. And hover on all fours. After weighing my options, I went for it. I simply can’t resist joining a rousing round of “Father Abraham”.

I made it through the session, with the help of that tangerine tambourine. But here’s how I felt when the abdominal binder and hip helpers were finally removed.

Overall, I like my therapies. But I’m beginning to hear talk of things like a positioning chair, orthotics, and a standing brace. If that happens, I’m going to need more than a tambourine. I’m expecting a whole orchestra of instruments. I’ve got a piano.

It’s time to add in a triangle and xylophone.