physical therapy bites

I don't know who thought that doing physical therapy on a 10-month-old child would be even remotely possible, but they're bloody wrong.

I'm supposed to do three things every day.

1. Pull him into a sitting position and place each arm on either side of him near his butt, one at a time, and then push down on the arm using his shoulder. This is supposed to make him feel the weight he can put on his arms and register that weight so he can apply it himself, and eventually learn to steady himself so he can sit up on his own, which he can't do yet. Most children can sit up on their own by 6 months, 7 at the latest. He'd be 8 months old if he'd been born on time.

2. Place him on his belly, pull his arm straight out in front of him, and then pull the rest of him up to meet his arm by his armpit, then do the same on the other arm. This is supposed to show him the mechanisms of commando crawling, or crawling on his belly.

3. Put him on his belly over my leg or over a towel, place his knees under him, and place his arms straight out in front of him so he's on his hands and knees. Once he's in position, I'm supposed to rock him back and forth the way babies do.

What really happens:

1. I pull him into a sitting position, at which point he sees his toes and is utterly enthralled. He becomes intent on putting them in his mouth, so he leans over and then falls to the side. I pull him into a sitting position again and wrestle his feet out of his hands. He starts screaming. I stop for a second to let him calm down, knowing that if I don't, I'm screwed. I pull him into a sitting position again. I pull the arm down, he bends it, balls his hand into a fist, wrestles it away from me. I pull his fingers straight, put his palm on the ground, straighten his arm at the elbow, then try to perform the exercise before he yanks his arm back and starts screaming. I have about .0000003 seconds to do this. I pray to grow another arm.

2. I put him on his belly. He rolls back over. I put him on his belly. He rolls back over. I put him on his belly. He rolls back over. I put him on his belly and try to press down on his back so he won't roll back over. I perform the exercise. He starts giggling because I've got my hand in his armpit. He rolls back over. I put him on his belly and press down on his back so he won't roll over. He starts screaming because he can't do what he wants.

3. I put him on his belly on a rolled-up blanket. I try to bend his legs under him. He straightens out like a board. I marvel at his herculean strength. I wrestle, grunt, and cuss under my breath trying to get his legs bent underneath him. He starts screaming; I stop for a second and hold him so he'll calm down. I start over. Finally, by some miracle, he keeps his legs bent underneath him. I put my leg behind his legs and my hand on his chest so he can't straighten back out. I try to pull his arms straight to no avail, since he's picked up something microscopic off of the ground and is trying desperately to put it in his mouth. I get the thing (usually a tiny piece of paper or a cat hair) out of his hand. He starts screaming.

I give up, sweating and frustrated, and let him do what he wants.

This boy's gonna drive me to drink. I think I could handle his racism better than this.