As bath time approached the other night, the girls became eerily quiet causing this mom’s internal alarm system to sound. With the water running, I abandoning the filling tub and sink shouting, “Girls?” “In here....momma” , Devi’s voice floated through the open door to their bedroom. Spying a heap of shed clothing, I entered the room and found them lying naked side by side, each clutching a baby doll, all cuddled under the covers of Devi’s bed, with both their heads sharing her single pillow. “Can we have some privacy, mom? We are having some girl talk”, Devi said. Suppressing my laughter, I muttered an “Oh ya...sure” and backed just out of view and quietly stood to eavesdrop. The conversation went like this.
D: Treya, who are you going to marry?
T: da da da (babble)
D: Well...you could marry baby Harrison. (while she subconsciously considered candidates)
T: bababab (babble)
D: He is the right age for you and you see him everyday.
T: da da da (babble)
D: You would have to be a nymph...not a princess. I’m gonna be a duchess, but we could both wear crowns.
It was so darling, but I finally had to break it up for bath time. Funny how they manage to communicate somehow even though Treya still struggles with language. Her latest words are “bop” which means stop; “bip” which means dip; and “af tine” meaning bath time. What makes her speech so funny is that if you don’t understand what she is trying to say, she will repeat herself again and again adding a little more emphasis each time until exasperated will flip her hands over; pumping them up and down with each loud syllable she is uttering. The biggest broad smile comes over her face, followed by her Indian head bobble, when we finally guess it right.
Yesterday was another “casting” day for our Miss T. She was fine with the saw, until the power switch was depressed, beginning her wailing session giving the noise of the whirling blade competition in the open room housing six full gurney’s of onlooking young patients. We’ve noticed in our 3 short months together that Treya’s tears don’t gently run down her cheeks like most children, rather they spout out of her tear ducts, almost as if her eyes are spitting. It is a rather remarkable talent, but one that I wish we did not have to upset her so to witness. It is also rather humorous that while crying, you can ask her questions and she will answer willingly through the sobs without missing a beat, giving an Indian head bobble replying “dood”, when asked “How are you today?”
With the shell of the cast removed, Dr. Mosca put her little chubby foot through it’s paces, and announced that he sees tremendous progress yet again. More mobility, better shape, better placement - all good signs; largely due to the previous club foot treatment she received in India. After his scrutiny, he announced that the cast applied yesterday, which will be worn for two weeks, will be her last, completing the transformation in 3 rather than the predicted 6 castings. After that, she will wear corrective shoes attached to a metal bar, holding her feet in the correct position at night. Dr. Mosca is hopeful that this final effort will complete the task, avoiding the tendon transfer surgery on the top of her foot.
Oh, and it is Peampt again!