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Parenting

 Spiritual guides come in odd packages, and one of my saviors this year was my child's physical therapist.


I'm not even convinced that my son *needed* physical therapy, but it's difficult to say no to a suggestion, and now I wouldn't rewrite this past year if I could.

The therapist was a little like Patti LuPone. She did not hold back. When I worried that my children sometimes seemed overly content with "silent time" in the crib, the therapist rolled her eyes at me. "You're ridiculous. You need to let those kids entertain themselves as long as possible." When I won tickets to "Into the Woods," the therapist had very little sympathy about my babysitter anxiety. "Let's say you can't find a sitter. You lock those children in a closet, and you go see Heather Headley."

The general message was: "Do less." For example, one day the therapist landed on the topic of Legoland. "Just don't do it," she said, and she shuddered. She did not elaborate, but instead did a "reprise" of her shuddering. "Do. Not. Go."

My favorite monologue concerned a visit from the grandparents. Though I hadn't asked, J's therapist "answered" some "questions" about separation anxiety. "You'll imagine the kids want to Zoom with you. They don't. And you'll think your own parents will want check-in text messages and statements of support. They really, really don't want that. You'll imagine your parents want a detailed guide to be sure they run the house in the *normal* way. You'll imagine that--and you will be wrong."

After J "graduated out" of Early Intervention, I sent a note to the therapist. "I'm on better footing now, because of you."

And now this seems like years ago. The sets and costumes keep changing; the cast won't stay the same.

P.S. I'm away for the next few days. See you sometime soon.
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