Very few things get under my skin. I mean, REALLY really get my blood boiling. I have minor annoyances- my children's disobedience, wet towels left on bedroom floors, muddy footprints tracked through the house..., but there are some things I have a hard time controlling my temper over. The helpless bus kids in my Sunday school class who are un-bathed and wearing dirty clothes stinking of cat urine who tell me that they didn't eat that morning, people who smoke around their children who can't speak up for themselves or escape it, and people who remain willfully ignorant yet feel the need to give their opinion on things they know nothing about. That's the one that has me all fired up today.
I know I've posted a few times about my oldest son's food allergies. Not that I wish to beat a dead horse, but it's a very touchy subject with me. I think because I encounter so many people who have no actual facts, but have very strong opinions on it. Opinions that are usually along the lines of, "people with food allergies should just have a reaction, be allowed to die, improve the gene pool and leave us alone to enjoy our PB&J." I'm not even kidding. I'm a very quiet person most of the time and I used to be a complete doormat. You could insult me all day long and it wouldn't really bother me. Then I had a baby. A baby with food allergies. Given to me to protect. I have spoken up and out more in defense of my son than I ever thought possible. I'm sure I wouldn't feel so strongly about it if my son DIDN'T have food allergies, but he does and I do. I would like to think that even if he didn't, I would try to be understanding of those who do. I can't imagine looking at someone else's child and thinking that they should be sequestered away in an attic somewhere for MY convenience.
Because I feel so strongly, I try to avoid articles written on the subject. I do stay up to date with advances in the field of preventing or "curing" allergies, but I've learned to avoid articles on the subject because usually say a whole lot of nothing and are followed by hundreds of stupid comments from people who don't have any clue about what they're spouting off about. I KNOW better, but I gave into temptation this morning and read one, and allowed my eyes to drift down to the "comments" section. Sure enough... I was so mad I was spitting nails ( and hateful names I would never allow my children to use). WHY do I do that? What was I hoping to see? A sudden change in people's attitude? Supportive encouragement for those with food allergies? The only thing I accomplished was making myself mad. Ecclesiastes 7:9 says, "Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry; for anger resteth in the bosom of fools". It's true. I was acting like a fool, self-righteously lashing out at someone I'll never see face-to-face and calling names like a bratty child. I baited myself... like a fool. The only "good" to come of doing that to myself is the burst of adrenaline from anger that has no outlet. You can get a lot of cleaning done on adrenaline. But what then? Sadness at knowing so many people consider your child less than human? A road-block to their enjoying peanuts on airplanes and peanut butter in school? Frustration at wanting to educate people but not knowing HOW? At knowing that even if most people had actual facts, they'd continue to be willfully ignorant, anyway? So, I do this to myself and I'm left just feeling...yucky.
So then what? I have to remember that I'm supposed to forgive the people who say such hateful things, because they don't really hate my son. They hate my son's allergy (and really, so do I) and to them, it's an abstract idea that they see as a hindrance to freely enjoying something they don't view as life-threatening, not an affliction of someone they love. Luke 6:36 and 37 says, "
Be ye therefore merciful as your Father also is merciful. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven." Matthew 44 even says you're supposed to pray for them. Hardly my first reaction when I'm in the flesh and hopping mad, but it works. It's like putting ointment on an angry wound. The pain and heat ease away and you start to see the one you're so furious with as human, with faults, just like you. I have to remind myself of all that's good in my life; the best husband anyone could ask for, amazing children, family who loves me, wonderful friends, a very blessed life, and most importantly, my God who loves me and knows my hurt. I have to remember that that as a Christian, I don't have to hold on to ugly anger and become bitter. I can take it to Him and shed it and have my joy back.
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Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Amish Country- Good Friends, Manure, Whoopie Pies and Pianos
Last weekend, I had the incredible opportunity to go to Amish Country with some friends- and make some new ones! I've wanted to go since I was little. It started off great- I'm on a trip! With the girls! No kids! Then, quite a ways down the road, I had one of those heart-stopping "uh-oh" moments. I didn't see my ever-present purse. I frantically checked all over the van- nope. Talk about feeling sick to my stomach. My friend loaned me her phone and I called home. Yup, sitting on the dining room table. I'd set it down to console my daughter who was clinging to me and crying. My friends generously spotted me some money. I felt awful and weird. I decided to try and get past it and just enjoy myself. I can honestly say I needed all the goofy girl talk and giggling. It's been such a long time since I've been responsibility-free. We got to the house we were staying at- my friend's parents' house. I don't usually do well with people I don't know. It takes me a LONG time to get to know people usually, but her parents were so warm and welcoming, I felt like I'd known them for years. Her mother is THE quintessential mother and her father the quintessential father. Their home was beautiful and inviting and cozy. My friend told her Dad about my "oops" and he offered to loan me money on the spot. Now, who ever wants to borrow money? Probably one of the most awkward situations to be in, but he was very kind and insistent and said it was no problem, I could just mail him a check when I got home. I ended up having just as much as I would have if I hadn't forgotten my purse. We spent the next day in Amish Country- it was like something out of a Beverly Lewis novel. Horses and carriages clip-clopping right along with motor-traffic. The cars passing the buggies made me nervous for them, but everyone seemed used to it- including the horses. Amish men hard at work riding manure spreaders pulled by teams of horses, little boys in their Plain clothes working just as hard raking in the field. I put a crick in my neck trying to see it all. It's almost like an alternate reality. Amish and Mennonite are everywhere down there, in the stores, working the registers... . And they're all very friendly and polite. Before, my only interaction had been working at a fabric store in my hometown. The Mennonite ladies would come in to buy fabric and it seemed like it almost pained them to have to talk to us. In PA, they're very personable and have the cutest accents ;).
We visited bulk food stores where I stocked up on some staples, nurseries, an antiques shop ( Oh, I could spend all day antiquing!) a grocery "seconds" store ( bags of flour for .10!!!) where one can buy freshly made ( and DELICIOUS) whoopie pies, and a few tourist traps. We packed as much as we could into the day, but it went way too quickly. We ended it playing games and laughing. I even got into a trash-talking match over Scattergories with my friend's Dad. Me. Who knew? He beat me, but barely. I was rusty ;). I can't think of a more perfect way to end a day. The next day, during breakfast ( yummy baked oatmeal and coffee!!) he received a call from a man he knows who wanted to donate an upright piano to someone who could and would use it. It was very special to him and he wanted it to go to a good home. Now, I have been praying for a piano for Crash for some time. A few years ago, I became aware that he seems to have a higher-than-average love/talent for music. He can hear a song or tune and sing or hum it perfectly. He can keep time and play something after only being shown once or twice. For our families, that's quite the achievement!! I LOVE music but can't sing to save my life. My husband would say the same. Crash has been taking casual lessons once a week for a few months but only gets to play on a piano once a week. The rest of the time, he's on a keyboard that his teacher loaned us. I wanted lessons badly when I was a kid and swore that if my kids wanted them, I'd do my best to make sure they got them. So far, Crash is the only one who's shown an interest, but I think Princess may be asking soon. Talk about God's timing! I never would've imagined I'd wind up with a free piano on vacation. My friend's father kindly offered to drop it off when he's up here next month. It still seems surreal, but the more I think about it, the more excited I get- and grateful?! So grateful!! I've noticed that answered prayer always comes in the most unexpected ways so you can't help but realize Who is at work.
On the way home, we visited my friend's sister who lives in an incredible house and runs a plant sale every year. She's a talented artist who could take just about anything and make it beautiful. Her kids were incredibly precious and she generously gave us all several plants for free. She had a great hot lunch prepared for us and showed us around. We've been FB friends (has Webster's adopted that one, yet?) for a couple of months, but she was so sweet and warm, I felt like I'd known her for years, too. People like that are few and far between. It was a wonderful weekend full of new friends, fun and wonderful memories.
We visited bulk food stores where I stocked up on some staples, nurseries, an antiques shop ( Oh, I could spend all day antiquing!) a grocery "seconds" store ( bags of flour for .10!!!) where one can buy freshly made ( and DELICIOUS) whoopie pies, and a few tourist traps. We packed as much as we could into the day, but it went way too quickly. We ended it playing games and laughing. I even got into a trash-talking match over Scattergories with my friend's Dad. Me. Who knew? He beat me, but barely. I was rusty ;). I can't think of a more perfect way to end a day. The next day, during breakfast ( yummy baked oatmeal and coffee!!) he received a call from a man he knows who wanted to donate an upright piano to someone who could and would use it. It was very special to him and he wanted it to go to a good home. Now, I have been praying for a piano for Crash for some time. A few years ago, I became aware that he seems to have a higher-than-average love/talent for music. He can hear a song or tune and sing or hum it perfectly. He can keep time and play something after only being shown once or twice. For our families, that's quite the achievement!! I LOVE music but can't sing to save my life. My husband would say the same. Crash has been taking casual lessons once a week for a few months but only gets to play on a piano once a week. The rest of the time, he's on a keyboard that his teacher loaned us. I wanted lessons badly when I was a kid and swore that if my kids wanted them, I'd do my best to make sure they got them. So far, Crash is the only one who's shown an interest, but I think Princess may be asking soon. Talk about God's timing! I never would've imagined I'd wind up with a free piano on vacation. My friend's father kindly offered to drop it off when he's up here next month. It still seems surreal, but the more I think about it, the more excited I get- and grateful?! So grateful!! I've noticed that answered prayer always comes in the most unexpected ways so you can't help but realize Who is at work.
On the way home, we visited my friend's sister who lives in an incredible house and runs a plant sale every year. She's a talented artist who could take just about anything and make it beautiful. Her kids were incredibly precious and she generously gave us all several plants for free. She had a great hot lunch prepared for us and showed us around. We've been FB friends (has Webster's adopted that one, yet?) for a couple of months, but she was so sweet and warm, I felt like I'd known her for years, too. People like that are few and far between. It was a wonderful weekend full of new friends, fun and wonderful memories.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Nerd Joy
This may sound a bit narcissistic, but I love having a kid who's so much like me. Now, I didn't mean it the way it probably sounds. See, I have an insatiable need to learn things. I was probably a frustrating student. If I didn't want to learn it (*cough cough* MATH), I threw up a mental block, but if I DID want to learn about something, I'd read and read until I'd soaked up all I could on the subject. Thankfully, Goober got a love of learning from me AND an aptitude for math from his father. He also got an insane capacity for all things science. Scratching my head over that one.
Anyway, I was making lentil soup for dinner and Goober asked me why we've been eating so much soup and so many bean-based meals lately. I explained a little about eating inexpensively while still eating nutritiously and then showed him some "Clara" videos on Youtube. Clara is a little Italian grandmother in her nineties living in Upstate NY. Her grandson, Christopher Cannucciari came up with the idea to film his grandmother talking about and cooking depression-era meals. Not only is she cute, fun and even soothing to watch, especially if you're missing your grandmothers, but there's a lot of wisdom in her little stories.
Of course, his next question was naturally, "what was the depression?". YAY!!!! Google field trip!!! I searched for a bit and came up with a neat little documentary on the depression available on Netflix. It's made up of lots of news reels from the era. Of course, we'll fill in with chapters from his American History textbooks and some fiction from the time-period, but for the time-being, we're snuggled up in front of the computer having some mother-son nerd time together- well, right now, we're in the intermission as we prepare to have dinner and I thought I'd pop on quickly and share my joy. 'Cause the only thing better than nerd-joy is blogging about it. 8)
Anyway, I was making lentil soup for dinner and Goober asked me why we've been eating so much soup and so many bean-based meals lately. I explained a little about eating inexpensively while still eating nutritiously and then showed him some "Clara" videos on Youtube. Clara is a little Italian grandmother in her nineties living in Upstate NY. Her grandson, Christopher Cannucciari came up with the idea to film his grandmother talking about and cooking depression-era meals. Not only is she cute, fun and even soothing to watch, especially if you're missing your grandmothers, but there's a lot of wisdom in her little stories.
Of course, his next question was naturally, "what was the depression?". YAY!!!! Google field trip!!! I searched for a bit and came up with a neat little documentary on the depression available on Netflix. It's made up of lots of news reels from the era. Of course, we'll fill in with chapters from his American History textbooks and some fiction from the time-period, but for the time-being, we're snuggled up in front of the computer having some mother-son nerd time together- well, right now, we're in the intermission as we prepare to have dinner and I thought I'd pop on quickly and share my joy. 'Cause the only thing better than nerd-joy is blogging about it. 8)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
"Sugar ticks"
Crash about age 5, around the time his first tics appeared.Everyone knows that too much sugar is never a good thing. All the long-term health effects are well-documented. Parents laughingly blame their kids' hyper-active bursts after holidays and birthday parties on the copious amounts of sugar consumed. I always have! I never thought, though, that it could have such a fast, obvious, visible impact on an already existing condition.
Crash was diagnosed with mild Tourette's syndrome last year after developing some disturbing eye-rolling , grimacing and hard blinking. We thought it was an optical problem as he already had glasses. When his eye doctor referred us to a neurologist, I knew. After the diagnosis, the initial anger, sadness for Crash, crying and many sleepless nights spent reading and researching, I relaxed. Over the next few months, it settled into just the hard blinking. We don't even notice it most of the time anymore. It's so mild that it's technically not even Tourette's. The neurologist told us that if he developed a vocal tic to accompany his facial twitches, then it would officially be Tourette's. Vocal tics generally appear between the ages of seven to nine, although they can manifest at any age. Crash just turned eight last month. They can be any sound made with the voice: grunts, throat-clearing, words, etc. . Vocal tics are very rarely coprolalia, or swearing. Only a very, very small percentage of people with Tourette's swear.
After his sister's birthday party last fall, he did develop a disturbing vocal tic for a couple of days- chronic throat-clearing. He wasn't sick. It was a very regular, rhythmic, "uh-hmm" UH-hmm". Josh and I watched him quietly for a couple of days, but it went away as quickly as it had appeared. Relieved, we went on with our lives. It happened again after his brother's party in October. We were out running errands and I reached for his hand and he panicked and told me he needed his fingers free. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I asked him "why?". He turned red, paused, and said, "I have to do this, Mommy" and showed me how he was rubbing the thumb and fingers of both hands together. I told him it was okay and held onto his wrist instead while I tried to swallow my worry back down. That one disappeared after a day or two, too. We happily forgot about it and went on with life once again.
I noticed this past Sunday, though, that Crash had started "tic'ing" badly and had even developed a new tic (biting his lower lip until it's raw). I didn't want to make a big deal about it for fear it would make it worse ( we believe the best course of action is to not speak about it unless he brings it up. *I* feel that drawing attention to it and making it a focus and a "problem" would only serve to give it power). It's worked well so far. He's a very sure, out-going, confident little boy full of humor and personality. He hardly notices it and neither do his friends. That is, until he came to me this morning upset and crying. It's driving him nuts. He said, "what is WRONG with me, Mommy?" After my heart finished shattering, I hugged him and explained that his tics had just gotten a little bit worse than usual and that we'd try to figure out how to make it better again. Princess, standing by with a worried look on her face gasped and said, "ticks?! How did Crash get ticks on him?". I can always count on my girl for some comic relief. We explained and I got them back to their schoolwork.
After doing some reading, I finally made the connection: sugar. He has a bag of candy left over from a birthday party pinata and has been having a piece or two once a day for a few days. His blinking has become almost violent and the skin under his lip is rough and raw. I sat down with him during a quiet moment yesterday and asked him if he could please quit biting his lip because he was hurting himself. He whimpered and said he couldn't- he HAD to do it and it felt weird if he didn't. *sigh* Hello, Tourette's. Sorry to see your ugly face.
I have since confiscated the bag of candy (much to his misery) and am going to pick our menus carefully over the next few days, avoiding as much refined sugar as possible to see if there's an improvement. I'm sure ( I pray) there will be. I know there is often a genetic predisposition toward Tourette's ( it has never appeared in either of our families that we know of, though), but I'm almost 100% positive there are also environmental factors, too, such as diet. It'll be interesting to see if my theory is right as there is a chance he could pass it onto his kids and it would be nice to know how to keep it in check. It's not horrible. There are far worse things it could be, but a miserable kid is a miserable kid and that is a VERY big deal to Mommy. I hope to have my happy, confident boy back soon.
UPDATE: A few weeks, out, we're pretty sure it was the sugar and/or possibly artificial coloring. His "new" tic has disappeared and we're back to our baseline normal. We've decided to split the difference trying to find a happy balance. I went ahead and let him have a little candy at Easter but informed him it might have an effect on his Tourette's. We talked about it for a bit and he decided ( of course) to eat his chocolate bunny and accept the consequences. His blinking did increase for a few days, but he didn't develop any extra noticeable tics. Since his older brother has food allergies and there is some science to support that Tourette's is a *form* of food allergy, now that we've got it back to "normal", I'm considering doing an elimination diet to see if there is any further improvement. My main suspect is dairy because Crash's Tourette's symptoms began to show up about the same time Goober out-grew his dairy allergy and we began giving it to them. He has always eaten wheat-based foods, so I'm not as concerned about that one. Food allergies in one form or another just seem to be the hand our boys were dealt. Fortunately, we have plenty of experience in that area and it shouldn't be a big deal ;).
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Tidbits
Little stories and quotes from my FB page I don't want to forget :)
Princess frequently gets nostalgic for the things of her long-ago childhood. She also has a memory like an elephant.
Today, it was a McDonald's playplace we went to years and years ago. Princess, close to tears: "Mommy, remember that Playplace we went to with Aunt Gina when I was little? I want to go again." Me, distracted: "Ew, those places are filthy".
Caroline, close to tears :::sniff::: but it was so fun...". Me: "we'll probably go to Knoebel's again this summer- that'll be fun, right? What more could you want?" Princess, suddenly dry-eyed and without missing a beat: "A thousand dollars".
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Crash has such a sweet heart. He puts on a pretty good tough act, but I know better. I just smashed a monstrous spider in the bathroom that had Princess cornered and was, according to her, planning to make her its dinner. I turned around to dispose of it and saw Crash standing there with a shattered look on his face. He told me he was going to get a piece of paper and rescue the "poor thing" and put it outside where he could be with his friends. I tried to console him and tell him our house would be swarming with spiders needing rescue in a month or so, but alas, his formerly sweet, flawless mother is now a cold-blooded murderer in his eyes. When he prayed at lunch, he asked God to comfort the "poor spider" if it was up there with Him. I don't think I've ever felt like such a heel. ;)
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Princess frequently gets nostalgic for the things of her long-ago childhood. She also has a memory like an elephant.
Today, it was a McDonald's playplace we went to years and years ago. Princess, close to tears: "Mommy, remember that Playplace we went to with Aunt Gina when I was little? I want to go again." Me, distracted: "Ew, those places are filthy".
Caroline, close to tears :::sniff::: but it was so fun...". Me: "we'll probably go to Knoebel's again this summer- that'll be fun, right? What more could you want?" Princess, suddenly dry-eyed and without missing a beat: "A thousand dollars".
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Crash has such a sweet heart. He puts on a pretty good tough act, but I know better. I just smashed a monstrous spider in the bathroom that had Princess cornered and was, according to her, planning to make her its dinner. I turned around to dispose of it and saw Crash standing there with a shattered look on his face. He told me he was going to get a piece of paper and rescue the "poor thing" and put it outside where he could be with his friends. I tried to console him and tell him our house would be swarming with spiders needing rescue in a month or so, but alas, his formerly sweet, flawless mother is now a cold-blooded murderer in his eyes. When he prayed at lunch, he asked God to comfort the "poor spider" if it was up there with Him. I don't think I've ever felt like such a heel. ;)
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Sunday, December 26, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
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! :)
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