Maggie's physiotherapist reckons she's doing brilliantly. And not just brilliantly for someone of her condition. This news cheered us up no end.
Her dietician, however, informed us that she's not put on weight. That she may even have lost a bit. This news didn't cheer us at all.
But that's the thing with Maggie: one minute it's this, the next it's that.
Overall, she's making good progress. She's making more eye contact, she's fixing and following, she's giving us the odd social smile, she's reacting to different stimuli and she's obviously very keen on us. I'd say she was like a three-month old baby. Or a two-month old. Not great, but it at least demonstrates that progress is possible.
And talking of progress, I've been thinking a lot about her future recently, about her life as an adult. As I was driving home today there was some fella who runs a day centre for disabled people talking about the kind of things he has to deal with. And when he spoke about the adults who go there, and what they get up to, it struck me that they exist in this kind of twilight world of disability. I mean, how often do you come across disabled people on an average day? Hardly ever, I'd wager. Yet they're out there somewhere, scurrying about in the skirting boards.
At Quidenham the other week they asked Shannon if we'd like to come with them on a big trip to Colchester Zoo. A special tour, after hours, when everyone else has left. Er, no thanks. We'll take Maggie to the zoo in the same way as everyone else goes to the zoo.
At the moment she's got us to love her. To be her friends. Who will she have when she's older? Well-meaning carers? Other disabled people? Social services?
I don't want her in that world. It's a rotten, sad and rather pathetic world. I want her in our world.
Pictures from this past week - taken on my iPhone, so the quality's not great: