The early childhood intervention folks came over to evaluate Angelee for their program. They asked me questions about her abilities. "Yes," I crowed, "she can say about 12 words now." I thought that was pretty good for a girl who had only been talking for a couple of days. And the verdict: "Your daughter is in the fifth percentile for her age." Fifth? Fifth?!? As in, "95 percent of two-year-olds are better than my girl?" Sigh. That's a harsh bit of reality. It's good that she can get into the program, though.
Angelee is quieter than she used to be. She moves around more tentatively. We are all more protective of her. Our nights have been awful, as she wakes up screaming for no apparent reason. Her words aren't always understandable. She has a hard time getting to sleep.
The other night, we tried for two hours to get her to go to bed. She can sleep without her helmet, but when we take it off, I get very anxious about what she does. We lay her down in bed and she holds still, her dark lashes scrunched up in complete sleep-concentration. We wait quietly to hear her breaths even out so we know she's asleep. After a moment, her little head pops up again. "Hi!" she bubbles, her enthusiasm anything but sleepy. She's too cute to get upset with.