Last Thursday we went to our monthly group physio appointment. The hospital run these sessions largely as a screening exercise to check that all their NICU graduates are progressing normally. It is also a good way to catch up with other mothers and babies, some of whom I met when Talia was in the NICU.

At each session, the staff deal with each baby in turn. We were one of the last to be seen, and I put Talia down on a mat and offered her some toys while we were waiting. She immediately started crying. I don’t know whether it is the lights or the smell or what, but she transforms from a placid, happy baby into a wailing, uncooperative mess every time we go. I also find these visits stressful, partly because of Talia’s reactions, and partly because it becomes ever clearer how far behind she is falling compared to babies of similar corrected age.

The first thing I am asked is “So, what does she do?” It’s a question that almost reduces me to tears, because I want to focus on the positives – how much she has grown recently, how much better she is sleeping, how her smile lights up the whole room, how she brings so much happiness to everyone who loves her.

But I know what sort of things they are asking about, and compared to the other babies there, she doesn’t do very much. She is 5.5 months corrected (8.5 months actual) and shows no signs of wanting to roll yet. She doesn’t automatically reach for and play with toys, or bring her hands together often, and she doesn’t play with her feet at all. To make it worse, she becomes so distressed in the physiotherapy room that I can’t even get her to show them how much better she is at tummy time these days.

In the back of my head there is always a nagging fear: what if there is a medical condition underlying her slow development? At Thursday’s session I am finally brave enough to ask this question to the physiotherapist. Thankfully she does not see any indications of cerebral palsy at this stage, but tells me she feels Talia would benefit from one-on-one sessions in addition to the group sessions, starting next month. As she explained it to me, without some assistance to develop her gross motor skills, at some point Talia will become frustrated because mentally she wants to progress but physically she is not capable.

Back home after the session, Talia returns to her calm, sunny disposition and waggles an arm at me in an unco-ordinated fashion, almost as if she is telling me to take it easy and not worry so much.

Hey, even Einstein was a late developer, and he turned out all right.

Talia is 8 months old today (5 months corrected) and celebrated this event by eating/wearing her first ever spoonful of sweet potato. In fact, it’s her first ever spoonful of anything “solid”, as she has rejected my previous efforts to feed her farex and pear, with an expression that clearly says “Mum, if this stuff is so good then please eat it yourself! Now where is my bottle?”

I’ve spent plenty of time in the last five months worrying about her lack of progress, both in terms of weight and development (especially in comparison to other babies of her corrected age), so today I am trying to look at what she has achieved so far.

Firstly, at 5kg she is almost 6 times her birthweight of 855g, which is pretty impressive even if she is well below the bottom line on her weight chart. She is also well on the way to doubling her original length, from 34cm to 60cm, which puts her respectably on the 10th percentile curve. And she must have some brains developing in there, because her head circumference is nearly at the 50th percentile. Go little Miss Pipsqueak Brainbox!!

I know we are as biased as any parents, but she is a cute little munchkin, and even more fun to be around now that she smiles at every opportunity, and starts to giggle when we play “Round and round the garden” or when we aim kisses at her. She has a very placid personality and rarely cries, except when she is hungry and we are slow with her milk!

Her hands are delicate, and have recently learned how to shake a rattle and how to grasp a handful of cat fur. Her little feet can now bear her weight, and she stands proudly on them while we support her. We are excited about the little milestones which are still not automatic for her – for example when she brings her hands together, puts something in her mouth, or reaches out to touch her reflection. We know she is a wellspring of potential and we roll her from back to side to tummy and back again, so that she knows it can be done once she decides she wants to try it for herself.

Sitting in a cardboard box, she holds her head steady and turns carefully with big, serious eyes to watch us moving around her. You can almost see her taking things in, absorbing new ideas. It will probably seem like no time at all and I will look back on this blog and laugh, because it will be me sitting in wonder and Talia running around me.

In the mean time, I will do my best to stay positive as she lags behind her peers, and to enjoy the little successes which make every day special. Even the ones which involve cleaning up after sweet potato.