Our New Quarterback

Ever seen a baby wearing a football helmet and wondered what kind of fanatical parents start them at 6ms!?

Well, that would be us.

The baby in a helmet. Not the fanatics.

It seems that while curled in the womb, Aaron got a crick in his neck. When he came out, the tight neck muscles made it more comfortable to look right and sleep on the right side of his head. Thus, his head looks like a lopsided egg.

Our pediatrician noticed it at the 2-week visit. We started physical therapy after the 4-month visit, and now the poor guy's joining the baby football league. All of which means he has a fairly routine condition known as "torticollis."*

Aaron's physical therapist says that since the "Back to Sleep" campaign (which has greatly reduced the incidence of SIDS, btw), torticollis is "epidemic." Kids born pre-1990 may have had it, but sleeping on their stomachs prevented most longterm issues. Nowadays, kids are more likely to survive past infancy, but the price is a fraction of kids who have lopsided eggs. I mean heads.

Fixing the head shape is optional. It does NOT affect brain development. It's a lot like deciding whether to get braces. Expensive, mostly cosmetic, but not exactly frivolous.

So in December we began the helmet acquisition process. It sounds simple: S, M, or L? No no, mi amigo. We now have standing appointments with our pediatrician, Vandy specialist, Baptist helmet-making folk, and pediatric rehab (PT) for fittings, exercises, check-ups, etc. Still, it has not been a problem. I know my beautiful little boy is healthy; all the doctors and staff have been sweet; Noah has handled the appts with grace (considering he's 2, that is); and we can afford it (gulp).

Which is why yesterday took me by surprise. We finally got the helmet, and I hated it. The helmet covers all but his sweet little face. All the red hair, the scrumptious neck that I kiss and tickle, the ears that I sing into, even the cheek-to-cheek dances I use to comfort him are now impossible when he's wearing that dern thing. The prospect of giving that up, of cuddling with a big piece of plastic between us for the next 5-6 months, felt like a punch in the gut. And that's just all about me. Aaron's not too crazy about it either. He sweats profusely when wearing it, and cries whenever he remembers it's there. Both of which will go away, but they don't make the transition easier for either of us.

But there is a bright side. Yesterday, one dear friend watched Noah for many hours (while we got the helmet and then waited for a new car battery) and then got pizza for our family. Then last night, I talked to another dear friend whose son also had a helmet and her encouragement gave me three very valuable points to consider:

1. Doing this now is by far the easiest way to ensure that Aaron has a reasonably symmetrical head and face.
2. There's nothing wrong with him. Many parents have to go through far more heartache, hassle, and privation on top of serious health issues. What am I complaining about?
3. "They say" he should wear it 23hrs/day, but that's just what's in the book. If I need a cuddle, take it off. If we have a special event, take it off. There are no helmet police.

Finally, Noah was eager to show me how much fun a helmet can be. God, I love these boys.

*I should mention that severe torticollis can be a health issue but thankfully Aaron's case is mild (as are most).