In the car with Dave over the weekend, I was pecking away on my BlackBerry, e-mailing a friend. I'm not sure why but it suddenly occurred to me how itty bitty the keys are, and how amazing it is that people have the ability to type with them.
Until Max was born, I never once appreciated the fact that my fingers do what fingers are supposed to do. But now that I've seen what sorts of fine-motor challenges a human being can have—the stroke impaired Max's hands, especially his right one—at times I am awestruck that my fingers are fully functional.
These thoughts randomly pop up. Like I'll be crocheting the granny-square blanket I've been making for Sabrina that may or may not be finished by the time she's in college (she's five) and I'll think about the intricacy of the movements required. Or I'll be twirling some spaghetti and marvel at the maneuvering it takes to do so. Or I'll watch Sabrina cutting paper with scissors and feel so grateful she can do that.
Max's hands are less stiff than they used to be, but opening them fully to grasp a toy or coordinating his fingers to hold the phone do not come easy to him. We need to work harder at adapting things around the house; I'm sure there's some sort of handle to attach to the phone that would better help him grasp it.
Tonight, both kids were in the bathroom brushing their hair in front of the big mirror. Max managed to hold the brush, but then Sabrina said in that sweet sing-songy voice she sometimes uses around him, "Maaaa-aaaax, do you want me to brush your hair for you?" He nodded, happily. And she brushed his hair then said, "Now it feels so soft!" And I totally melted.
If you don't have a kid with disabilities, chances are you've never once thought about the wonder of fingers that flex, legs that walk, mouths that talk. But if you do have a kid with disabilities, I'm betting sometimes you think about this stuff, too.
istock/SunForRise
