Owen is in therapy. (Seriously, how is this even possible?)
We’ve started doing more aggressive exercises, which involve two people (one holding him down and pulling his shoulders down, the other twisting his head) every night. It’s part of the bedtime routine, though (James in pjs, Owen in diaper only, bottles made and ready to go, exercises for Owen, hugs for Owen, Owen in pjs, bottles fed, sleep) so they actually happen. I know the twisting and turning and holding is good for him, in the long run, but still, the way he looks at me while we’re doing them simply breaks my heart.
“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.” —Thomas Merton
