Today C. smiled - well, almost

C. works at her Tablet

I often try to imagine what C. understands and what, on the other hand, swooshes right past her.

I know there is a contingent of believers in the hidden intelligence of even those with profound cognitive impairment. I'm wary of that camp since it includes fans of "facilitated communication". I'm one of their staunchest opponents. They are stashed in my "outrageous voo-doo" file.

In the early days of C.'s disabilities, when the hubby and I were open to all and sundry snake-oil cures, I was lured by a friend to a facilitated communication "expert". The woman had C. spell out - by pointing at an alphabet chart - a merciless tirade about my debased spiritual state.

Oh, and did I mention that she held C.'s hand while she "selected" each letter? Or that I paid cash for the privilege of hearing that lecture?

As I've mentioned before, the hubby and I eventually regained our sanity. Quacks were long ago deleted from our "to-do" list.                           

But it is clear that C. understands some of the basic statements I share with her. Regarding the more abstract ones, I'm not entirely convinced.

Today, however, I was swayed towards the believers. I had had a relaxed, fruitful morning with C. She fed herself nicely, worked on the Tablet (a bit less impressively) and did her M.E.D.E.K. walking very competently.

C.'s smile

So on the way to school I praised her effusively. Well, she actually gave one her "smiles": the tongue slightly protruding from the side of her mouth. She usually does that when she has just begun walking - something she welcomes after those long hours sitting.

I took the smile as "Thanks for the positive feedback, Mom."

And I don't think I was at all delusional.

Note: For the first year of her life, C. smiled and laughed normally. That ended abruptly when her epilepsy erupted after the MMR vaccine.