We had a wonderful, cozy Christmas day yesterday. Last night as we were all getting ready for bed, I grabbed my oldest in a hug ( Goober) and pulled him into the chair with me for a snuggle. Somewhere in the recent past, he's gotten too old for snuggles with Mommy and it makes me sad. Every now and then, though, I get him down and "waller" him ( as my Grandpa used to say). As I sat there hugging him, I was startled by how big and filled out he's gotten as of late. While it saddened me a little that he's growing up too fast, I was also so thankful that he's growing.
Goober's always been very small for his age ( we called it "wiry" to give it a positive spin).
He didn't start out that way, though. His birth weight was 7lb.5 oz. Very respectable for his parents, who were both in the low 7 lb. range. I had a very uneventful pregnancy and birth with Goober, but our official introduction into parenthood after his birth was a trial by fire. I was young- 21. My husband was 20. During our stay in the hospital, people kept referring to my husband as "your boyfriend" or "your partner". No matter how many times I found the guts to correct them and say, "my HUSBAND" and show them my rings, it kept happening. I would seethe silently for a few minutes and then forget about it and enjoy my baby. I was also questioned endlessly about our decision to not circumcise our son. No matter how many times I said, "no, we chose not to", someone else would always come in and try to convince me otherwise. I had opted to have my baby room in rather than be left in the nursery. I woke up once to a nurse quietly wheeling away his bed. I asked, "where are you taking him?" She said, "Oh, I'm taking him to be circumcised, I'll bring him back when it's all over. He'll probably just want to sleep". I sat straight up and said, "NO, YOU ARE NOT!!!". I shocked her and myself.
As we were preparing to take him home, we were told we needed to take part in a "class" before we were allowed to leave. Again, I was annoyed, but we quietly complied. We sat down and looked around and realized all the other participants were very young teen moms, some alone and some with the fathers. During the class, we were "taught" how to wrap, change and burp a baby, among several other very basic things. I was thinking, "wait, you think we're too stupid to know how to change a diaper, yet you're letting us take these babies home and trusting us to keep them alive?!". Whatever. We got through it and went home.
Almost immediately, I realized something wasn't quite right. Goober had been born with a beautiful complexion, yet a day or so after we got him home, he began getting horrible patches of eczema all over his body and he would get red bumps all over that spread if I rubbed them. He also turned into a miserable baby. He would begin to nurse and then begin crying and fussing. As a result, it was a constant cycle of five minute nursing sessions. I hardly left the room. Soon, he would cry from hunger, but begin pushing me away with his little hands in misery. At his well child visits, I told his pediatrician I suspected food allergy. She scoffed and said, "everybody thinks their baby has a food allergy. He has colic" and proceeded to give me all the horrible, worthless advice that doesn't work for "colicky" babies. We endured it for five miserable months and then one day, Goober when on strike and refused to nurse. We both spent the day crying. Finally, in desperation, I dug out the little can of dairy-based Similac the hospital sent home and made up a bottle. As I was going to give it to him, some dripped on his chin, which immediately turned red and puffy with hives everywhere. I dumped the bottle in the sink and called my husband at school ( he was in college at the time) and told him to pick up some soy formula on the way home. I was at the end of my rope, and so was poor Goober. When my husband brought home the formula, I made up another bottle and dripped some on his skin to see what would happen. Nothing. I gave him the bottle and he took it all. It was amazing. Afterward, he let out a contented burp and dropped off into a deep sleep- the first time ever. Almost overnight, he turned into a different baby.
I'm a vegetarian. With my husband in college, finances were tight. As a result, we recieved WIC. Since I was a vegetarian, I received extra vouchers for dairy and peanut butter. I relied heavily on dairy and peanut butter for protein. Those were my prime suspects for food allergy for Goober. By the time I was finally able to convince his pediatrician to refer us for allergy testing, I had two more suspects- egg and chocolate (I gave him scrambled eggs on his first birthday and he reacted immediately before he even got any to his mouth). I discovered the chocolate when I found him sitting behind the end table gumming a Hershey's kiss after Christmas. He was covered in hives and wheezing. The allergist was doubtful when I gave him my list of things to test for, but obliged and tested for a myriad of other things as well. He reacted very strongly to the four I had mentioned and to nothing else. After testing, he said Goober's reaction to peanut was so strong it scared him. Dairy and egg, too. He sat us down and had a very serious talk with us to help us understand just how dire a situation it could be. We listened and took everything to heart. We walked around in a daze for a few days and then got busy reading labels and compiling a "safe foods" list and I got busy creating recipes using alternative ingredients.
Finally confirming his allergies and justifying my worries ( I was known as a paranoid mom) wasn't the end, though. Even after we finally eliminated all possible allergens from his diet, he continued to dislike eating and struggled with horrible reflux. Even if we were able to get a decent meal into him, more often than not, about five minutes after eating, it would all come up. It wasn't normal spitting up, it was projectile vomiting an impressive distance. We would begin all over again, praying something would stay down. Between his hatred of eating and the throwing up, we considered it a good meal if we were able to get two or three good bites into him and have it stay down. I broached the reflux with his pediatrician and once again, got dismissed. She did, however, lecture me about his weight ( 19 pounds at a year and a half) and proceed to instruct me that I needed to give him WHOLE milk and lots of cheese and dairy to "bulk him up". I stared at her and reminded her that dairy was potentially deadly for him. She blinked a few times and consulted his chart. "Oh. right. Well, give him lots of fattening things, then. Chips and french fries and syrup and ... ". Was she serious?!
I had been making his baby food all along and decided to play with some recipes using foods with HEALTHY fat and calories to help bulk him up without resorting to processed junk.
His favorite became mashed bananas with avocado. I tasted it once. Awful, lol, but he loved it! .
I would also add olive and flax seed oil where I could and added brown rice syrup to his cereal.
He was obviously a very healthy child. He didn't have the constant colds and infections and problems other babies seemed to get regularly. He was very active and obviously curious and bright. However, he wasn't "bulking up" fast enough for the pediatrician's liking and she referred us to Riley Hospital for Children to see a specialist. Now, I thought they were finally going to address his reflux. We got there and were taken to an exam room. In walked a Dr. and a Dr. Goober was examined, pronounced to be severely underweight and we received a very serious lecture that the slightest breeze would push him over into "failure to thrive" and were basically accused of child abuse. Now, silly me, I always thought that diagnosis was reserved for weak, listless, pale children. I was cross-examined and even asked if I was "withholding food" because I thought my baby was "too fat" At this point, I'd had enough and said, "of course not!" and launched into everything we'd dealt with up to present. I again pleaded with someone to address his reflux ( after all, we were at the best Children's hospital in the region) and again got the brush-off. They decided to have me talk with a nutritionist "to help you know how to feed him". She was the first reasonable person we'd talked to and actually listened. I explained his food allergies, aversion to food and reflux and how I tried to work within those confines. After, she sighed, patted my hand and said, "honey, you're doing everything right, there's nothing else you CAN do". Finally! I bawled and we were finally able to go home. Nothing accomplished except getting the "experts" off my back. On the way home, I reflected and thought over the past year and a half and somewhere between Indianapolis and Lafayette, I grew a backbone. *I* know my baby, I love my baby and I am the only one who will make sure he's taken care of. If I don't stand up and make sure that's what happens, the fault is mine. When something is wrong, I find the courage to insist until I'm listened to.
Goober's reflux eventually settled down; though, to this day, if he runs around too much or jumps around too much, he throws up. I'm guessing it has something to do with a weak muscle in his esophagus, but since he grew out of throwing up after eating, no doctor will check it out.
His aversion to food, though, lasted a good eight years. He had always just been a poor eater, and as a result, very small for his age. He willingly eats all kinds of vegetables and prefers healthy food, but he just wouldn't eat very much. We had resigned ourselves that he was just always going to be small. He's always been extremely healthy, just small.
Until about two years ago. Something happened and my nibbler turned into a bottomless pit. If it's not nailed down, it gets eaten. If his brother or sister didn't finish their portion and there's none left in the kitchen, he'll eat theirs. If he has two servings and is still hungry, he'll ask for a banana... or three. It's come and gone with his growth spurts, but has recently revved up into high gear the last month or so and he's turned into an eating machine. I still get teary sometimes watching him happily mow through more food than my husband can eat. It's still amazing to me. As his appetite has grown, so has he. At an astonishing rate. Some days, I swear he goes to bed taller or more filled out than when he woke up that morning. He's outgrowing clothes left and right. Some parents might be frustrated, but I'm thrilled.
I guess I hadn't realized just how much he's grown until last night. I couldn't be happier.

Horse Crazy

I have known girls in my life who were absolutely obsessed with horses. They tend to be a "type". Rugged country girls who live, breathe, and sleep horses ( I was going to say "eat", but that just seemed wrong). They almost always live on the outskirts of town, if not in the country and if they don't have their own horse, they have access to them.
My little girl seems to be following in that tradition. For as long as I can remember, she's been horse-crazy. She was born in town and until a year ago, lived in town, but she absolutely loves horses. When we moved to the country and our neighbor we share the property with had a horse, I thought Princess was going to lose her mind. Unfortunately, "Lady" the horse is old, cranky and set in her ways. She only gives you the time of day if you have an apple or carrot for her. Then, she grudgingly walks over, strettttches out her neck and takes it delicately with her teeth all the while maintaining enough distance so that you couldn't possibly pet her. She sticks around for a minute to see if you have more, then tosses her head and snorts, dismissing you, and trots off.
Princess was heartbroken at first at being given the brush- off by the object of her affections, but she continues to admire her from afar, staring out the window for long stretches and watching Lady graze in the pasture. Hopefully, one day, she'll have one of her own to love, but in the meantime, she's amassing an admirable collection of horse paraphernalia. She receives ponies and horses as gifts, horse books, pictures of horses. Whenever she gets any money, it gets spent on, you guessed it, horse stuff. Most recently, she used her Christmas money to buy a stuffed horse. She tied a string around its neck and it has become her constant companion. Although Princess's Daddy is of the same school of thought as my Papaw ( "horses don't provide a service and you can't eat them, so they have no place on a farm"). They do have some that are barely bigger than a dog, now- surely he couldn't deny something so cute and less than three feet tall? I'd bet it would still eat less than our cat! :)