web analytics



May 06


There are a lot of up and downs these days.

One of the bigger challenges has been Sam’s sense of taste.  Sam was an eater – he was a kid who LOVED to eat.  Loved it.  He had a huge appetite, and it was an incredible source of pleasure for him.  Not just pleasure – comfort.  He was a huge comfort eater – it soothed him, it stopped the gastrointestinal pain.  He just straight up loved eating.

Now he doesn’t.  His sense of taste is all out of whack.  He doesn’t like anything anymore.  He can’t eat meat, condiments, can’t find a fruit or veggie that he’ll try.  He drinks water.  All the time.  He’ll eat cinnamon buns, peanut butter, and chocolate rice crispies.  That’s it.

It’s incredibly frustrating, not just for him, but for me too.  Because every meal means tears and sadness and anger.  There’s nothing I can offer that he likes, only those three things that he’ll tolerate.  Forget healthy – I’m just shooting for food in his belly.

Last night, I was making beans and hot dogs.  Sam used to love that.  He loved hot dogs cut up in beans, hot dogs sliced with ketchup, hot dogs in a bun.  But now… he can’t eat that any more.  He was so sad, and so hopeless, and then so angry – and there was nothing I could do to make it better.  I just have to sympathize, and encourage him to problem-solve, to want to accept solutions instead of shooting them down, and to know that it’ll get better.  He was mad, and yelling at me.   I know it’s normal, I know he’s got to put the anger somewhere, and I’d rather it be me than himself.

Eventually, he calmed down, asked for cereal and ate two bowls.  Given that it was all he ate yesterday, at least it’s fortified, right?  Go me.  The night moved on, and I was busy bathing Julie, putting her to bed.  Marc came home just as she was going down, and I let her get up and go play with Daddy for a while, while I vegged out with netflix waiting for her.  When Marc finally sent her back into her bedroom, I heard Sam ask him to run a bath for him.

I have to explain that Sam wasn’t a fan of bathing before the accident – he was the grubbiest toddler I’ve ever known.  He hated baths so much that on at least one occasion, he cried until he vomited in the tub.  Sam never, never, never asks to get clean.  He bathed, but it was always me suggesting, pushing and then insisting.  After the accident, it got significantly harder.   Getting in and out of the tub is hard.   It hurts.

His hair is a disaster.  I like it shorter.  Not super short, but shorter.  I wanted to get it cut before the accident in early March.  I’ve been teasing him about his hair, talking about getting it cut off and on, and he’s always insisted that he’ll do it later, once he’s not broken, once he’s all the way healed.   Given that there’s so very little in his world right now that he can control, I didn’t push.

Last night, he asked his dad to fill up the tub, and to cut his hair.

It was the sweetest apology I’ve ever gotten.

1 pings

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>