M started physical therapy. With J's former therapist. In his old time slot. One week the pt saw him, and then he turned three. The next week she started with M.
Today, as our therapist was shutting her car door, she leaned out the window.
"This is SO weird," and she nodded toward my hip, where I had M perched.
"Okay, I'm so glad you said so, because it's just what I was thinking!" I said, as I laughed. We were both picturing the fussy, stiff baby who became the scared, cautious toddler who became the laughing, running three-year-old too big for therapy. He's at preschool now.
We paused for a minute, thinking about him and looking at her. And then I told our pt we'd see her next week.
Apparently, even medical professionals feel the strangeness of this situation. One preemie baby following in the footsteps of another.
I'm glad I'm not alone.
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