Scary Dreams

Dear Drake,

Right now, while you are four years and four months old, you are crawling into bed with us almost every night. Anywhere from about an hour after your Dad and I go to sleep, to 15 minutes before we have to get up in the morning. Sometimes I hear you wake up, obviously sad or scared from some unpleasant dream and sleepily welcome you into my arms when you show up at the foot of our bed. Other times, I roll over in the night and discover your small body sleeping next to me since who knows when. As squishy as it can be, and as much as I do not like your feet in my face, as you are known to do, I love it. I love how much you love to cuddle, and will be profoundly sad when the day comes that you decide you have outgrown it.

A couple of nights ago, Dad was away for work. You came into bed with me almost immediately. I don't think I had even fallen asleep when I heard you crying upstairs. I came up and found you wandering around the kitchen, half asleep and whimpering. I scooped you up, you wrapping your long limbs around me and resting your head on my shoulder, and carried you down to my bed. I think we both sleep better together, which might have something to do with the 14 months you spent sleeping in our bed after you were born. We cuddled straight through the night.

Somewhere around 5 in the morning, you woke us up with a scream that peeled through the dark room. The kind of gut wrenching wail that tears a person out of some terrifying nightmare. "NoooOOOOOOOOO!!!!" you screamed. "NO CHEESE IN MY QUESADILLA!"

It still makes me giggle. I am sorry you were scared, but good grief, Son. That is what scares you most?! Food. Our biggest struggle with you. The never-ending, completely nonsensical battle. You love tortillas. You love cheese. But how dare someone put cheese in your tortilla! Silly boy.

I related the story to Daddy, and he laughed, of course. As we chuckled together, it occurred to me that you really ARE the product of our marriage. Your Dad and I, we were meant for each other. We are best friends, and each other's perfect counterpoints. He keeps me steady, and I keep him dreaming. We support each  other. We make each other laugh. We communicate patiently. I'm telling you this to try to make your understand that your Dad and I are very well matched - in all ways but one: food.

I'm the hippie who wants everything to be non-GMO, organic, whole grain, pasture fed, locally raised, whole foods. I believe just about every issue we have with our bodies can be addressed by what we put into it, and that processed foods are the root of all evil. I was a vegan when I met your Dad. Your Dad, most decidedly, was not. The joke is that he is my Southern boy who likes fried chicken. The truth is something a little less stereotypical than that - for both of us -  but is certainly marked enough that it was the subject of much teasing from our friends when we first got together. "That will be the only thing they ever fight about," friends would say with laughing eyes, as your Dad joked about wanting to fry a Twinkie and I freaked out a little. And then we got married, and we made you, and here you are: a funny, sweet boy, a good communicator, a loving member of our family with whom our only fight is food.

Funny how life works.

I do hope to be able to teach you healthy habits and that you carry into your life a strong understanding of the way to nourish your body. In the meantime, I'm going to do my best to remember that this is the dynamic I created, and deliver my admonitions with laughing eyes.

I love you young man. I can't wait to cuddle you again tonight. I hope your dreams are full of grapes with no seeds and apples that have had every molecule of peel removed and absolutely no brown spots and that your cheese is safely separate from your tortilla.

Kisses,
Mom

This $#!+ is Bananas

When it comes to food, my son is insane. Full on coo coo.
Yesterday, he asked me for a banana. "Bynanat," to be accurate. So, naturally, I snagged a banana, peeled it, and handed it to him. At this point in my relationship with my son, I should not have been surprised by what happened next. He lost it. "Not dis bynanat! DIS bynanat!" he cried, pointing at the unpeeled banana still on the counter.
"Son, they are exactly the same," I tried calmly reasoning with him, to which he responded by throwing himself on the ground.
"Not dis bynanat!" tears pouring down his face.
"Son, they are the same. I'm not going to peel the other banana for you. That's wasteful."
"NOT DIS BYNANAT!"
"Drake, this is crazy behavior. You asked for the banana. Here it is." I lay the banana on the edge of the counter within his reach.
"NOT DIS BYNANAT! NOT DIS BYNANAT!" he wailed even louder.
"Drake!" I said, my voice growing stern, "This is crazy. You asked for the banana and they are all the same!"
"NOOOO! NOT DIS ONE!"
"Drake! You are driving me nuts!"
"NO NUTS! NO NUTS!" he cried, and I don't know if he was insulted or worried I might force feed him nuts. Just when I thought I might actually lose my mind, Drake stood up, sniffled once, saw the peeled banana on the edge of the counter and said, smiling, "Oh! My bynanat!" as he grabbed it and walked off happily. I was left standing in the kitchen, my eye twitching ever so slightly.

He never ate it. He just sat there holding it as he watched his cartoons. For an hour. I repeatedly reminded him to eat it, asked him to eat it, suggested that he should take a bite, begged him to eat it. He just smiled and did nothing until his cartoons were over, at which point he cried that his hands were messy and rejected the banana all over again.

Twitch... twitch

Taking Care of Momma: Some Wins, Some Losses

The past week of trying to focus just a little bit more energy on myself has gone... well - depending on how you look at it. I had about a 50% success rate when it came to getting the whole workout in. A couple of days I missed it altogether; a couple days I ran out of time or motivation for the stretching portion. The good news is that, despite the misses, I still feel motivated and - dare I say it?  - positive about the whole endeavor. I'm still looking forward to my runs (although sometimes my early morning brain forgets that fact) and am doing better about getting past old mental hang ups. "I didn't get my workout in before breakfast so now it's not even worth it because you're supposed to do aerobics on an empty stomach." "I have so much to do - there's no way I'm getting that workout in today." I'm catching myself in my own excuses and shutting myself up.
 I'm also feeling pretty damn proud of my eating habits this week. I've stayed below my calorie count every day (except for today, actually) and I've done it by making a lot of fresh, veggie heavy foods. This was a tuna wrap I made with greek yogurt instead of mayo (surprisingly yummy), a little curry powder, dried cranberries, chopped apple, and mixed greens on a multi grain tortilla. It's been a lot of time in the kitchen, but I've always enjoyed that anyway and it makes me feel good.

Speaking of which... my self esteem has been given a little boost. Even in just the past week, I've noticed the hateful messages in my head getting a little bit quieter. I even threw myself a little "Not bad" in the mirror the other day. Feels good. I'm certainly not "there" yet, but I can feel that I'm on the right road. Thank you, everyone, for the kind and encouraging words.

Taking Care of Momma, Week 3 (I'm keeping it the same as week 2, since I missed several days):
Running plan: same as last week
Calisthenics plan: same as last week
Weight: 136 lbs - down 3 pounds from last week!!
Self Esteem: better

Goals:
Running: Run more than I walk.
Calisthenics: Get through a more intense workout without feeling like I'm going to pass out or fall over. I'm contemplating joining a fitness challenge group in April for the support aspect. Thoughts? Suggestions?
Weight: 130
Self Esteem: healthy.

A Not-So-Well Child Checkup

Drake and I had to make a {slightly} premature visit to the pediatrician on Friday. He was due for his 15 month well-child check this Thursday, but he hasn't been very "well" lately. It's nothing new to us - just a few bad battles with his anal stenosis. It was the fact that it seemed, both to Justin and I, to be getting worse over all instead of better, that finally prompted me to call the pediatrician and ask for the next available appointment. I just can't stand watching him cramp up and grunt and cry all the time anymore. I can't explain it any other way to you except to say that I feel like I coach my son through labor nearly every day. That is seriously the only other place I have heard sounds like the ones that come out of my son when he is trying to go to the bathroom. It's awful. So to the pediatrician we went.
Our original pediatrician in Helena is the one who made the anal stenosis diagnosis. He said there was a constriction about half an inch up in there. He told us to avoid certain foods like bananas and white rice to avoid him getting constipated on top of it, and that the act of pushing his stools out would, over time, help him to stretch and eventually grow out of the condition. When we first saw Drake's new pediatrician and filled him in on Drake's history, he seemed... skeptical. But Drake was not having trouble with it at that particular time so it wasn't much of a conversation. But now, with it seeming to suddenly get worse, he was forced to tell me what he thought. Basically, he told me it was a diagnosis he very rarely - if ever - makes and that he thought that Drake was, for whatever reason, just a child prone to constipation. He said all of this without ever having done a physical exam himself. So now it was my turn to be the skeptic. How can you tell me that my son is just constipated when I've done everything to avoid that? He gets all the right foods. Prunes, pineapples, whole grains... and nothing that can clog him up. It's honestly so disheartening to me. I'm a firm believer that food is healthcare and hesitate to medicate unless absolutely necessary. That being said, the pediatrician did go on to say that sometimes constipation can become a vicious cycle, getting big and hard on the inside and stretching out the rectum, and creating a pocket for future stools to get bigger and harder and stretch out... you get the idea. He said we needed to break the cycle. He recommended Miralax and assured me that it was a safe drug that never absorbs through the intestine wall into the bloodstream, but sits in the intestine, drawing in excess water to soften the stool. So that's what we're doing. Because he was certainly right about one thing: we have to break this cycle for my son. But I have my eye on you, doc. You better not act like I'm crazy if we encounter more problems in the future.
Drake still hasn't been able to go to the bathroom (it's now Sunday evening) though he tries every half hour or so. I'm praying the Miralax kicks in soon and we can put this all behind us. And you won't have to read the words "stool" and "rectum" so often. Sorry about that.
Other than that, Drake is doing very well. Developing normally (though he makes me abnormally proud). He's in the 50th percentile for height and weight but the 87th percentile for head circumference. Poor kid - he's got a big head just like his Momma's side of the family. I still maintain it's room for all those brains. He got caught up on his shots - two in each leg, which seemed awfully unfair to me - but he was a stud about it.
Afterward, we had to stop by the store to get the Miralax and a couple things for dinner. In the checkout line, a man in his fifties and dressed in a dirty, over sized coat started talking to Drake and I. He told us that he had four kids and NINETEEN grand kids. He was there to buy a toy for one of them. He was pretty taken with Drake, talking and smiling at him. Then he showed Drake something off the impulse-buy shelves: a blue rubber duck. Drake lit up. The man offered to buy it for him. Random kindness like that is so rare, I hardly know how to react to it. To be honest, I'm used to men that look like he did being slightly on the creepy side, leaning more towards inappropriate flirtation than anything else. I tried to politely decline, mentioning that we had some at home (we only have one). But when I tried to take the duck from Drake so that we could leave, he almost lost it. I didn't have the heart to just yank it from him after the day/week he had had. As I was trying to gently pry it from his hands and convince him that his lovie was enough, the man offered a second time. This time I smiled and said thank you. I think it made Drake's day. And the pleasant surprise was good for me, too. 

15 Month Stats:
Height: 31"
Weight: 22 lbs 11 oz
Head: 19"

I don't get this kid

I've really been struggling with getting my boy everything he needs nutritionally. He has limitations because of his anal stenosis - no bananas, no apple sauce, no white bread, no white rice - but on top of that, he is becoming increasingly picky. I don't understand. I feel like we're going in the wrong direction. Early on, he wanted anything we were eating. And not just to try it. He would eat substantial amounts of food off of my plate. Complex, highly seasoned foods. Salads. Steamed veg. Anything. But suddenly, all of that went out the window. I have to try over and over to find something he will eat. If it could be considered a bread product, he will eat it. So I try to bake a lot of good things - dried fruits and shredded veggies and seeds and nuts - into muffins and unsweetened cookies. But I know he can't live a life on bread products alone, as much as I may doctor them. So I try. Every time, I try. I try oranges and apples and pears and slices of cheese and grapes and soup and eggs and ..... sigh. I've tried it all. Sometimes I'll succeed, for a bite or two, but then he refuses to eat again.
So, when he reached for a couple of tangerines the other day, you can understand that I assumed he just wanted to play with them. They do look like balls, after all. Since we had so many of them, and he was being a pill, I decided to hand them to him. I watched him roll them and toss them for a minute or two before heading off to do the dishes. Imagine my surprise when I found him like this:

Yep. Eating the sad, beaten up tangerines. Peel and all. What? The last five times I had offered them to him - peeled and segmented, of course - every single segment had ended up on the floor. But look at him tear into this thing:


I watched this strange but fascinating phenomenon for a couple of minutes but then Drake gagged on a large chunk of peel he had torn off and I got nervous. Thinking he would appreciate the gesture, I peeled the rest off for him and handed him back the half eaten tangerine. He lost it. Absolutely lost it. He was so mad at me and refused to have anything further to do with his tangerine.
I'm so confused...

What challenges do you have feeding your family? Any tips or advice? I'd love to hear from you.

First Bites

For nearly two weeks now, Drake has been enjoying the new privilege of (semi)solid food. My midwife had told me that I would know when he was ready - that he would stare at my food and drool and try to grab for it. Somewhere around six months, maybe later, she said. Well, for those of you who know my son, you know how quickly he is powering through the growth stages. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise when he started showing the signs of being ready for solid food somewhere around three and a half months old. I refused, however, to admit that it was really happening. Heck to the no, my son. It became impossible to ignore about a month ago, however. He followed my fork or my coffee mug back and forth from my mouth with his eyes, and often with his hands too. He whined and stretched for it. And still I persisted. No. Not until six months. Maybe longer. As long as breast milk is enough for him - as long as he's thriving - no. I'm not moving him to solid food. I just wasn't ready.
But I finally had to give in about ten days ago when one of my criteria was unquestionably being met. He just wasn't satisfied with nursing alone. For several days in a row he was sucking me dry, hurting me and frustrating him. I put on a brave face and busted out the Baby Bullet (thank you, Jaime!).
We started with an apple puree and some rice cereal. He definitely had some sensory shock the first day - wide eyed and apprehensive as he pushed most of it back out with his tongue. The second day he was comfortable and swallowing easily. The third day he was lunging forward and chomping at the spoon just milliseconds after I'd put the last bite in. He was literally grabbing my hand to pull it closer, faster.
So that's it. There's no going back. No more baby who relies solely on me for his nourishment and health. Now someone else could do the job. Stress.

Speaking of which, plenty of people are quickly volunteering for the task and already I can see how my son will be spoiled by the many people who adore him. Dad offered him some ice cream; his Best Friend gave him whipped cream. He was a happy boy. Gassy later, but happy.