Posts tagged ‘feeding therapy’

Holding Pattern

My goal at this point is to kind of just get through the holidays. Before C was born, I was all about the holidays. Starting with a pumpkin carving party for Halloween-to a massive feast on Thanksgiving-to decorating everything that moved for Christmas, I lived for October 1 to January 1. But this year, I’m just not in the mood. I am not in a bad mood, but I have realized that I would rather just “be” than pretend as though things are normal when they are most definitely not.

Like so much with C, things slowly started to change after his birth, and our holidays changed just like everything else. C was terrified of Halloween. Literally terrified. Pumpkin faces and costumes freaked him out, even the happy ones. In later years, he enjoyed trick or treating (even though he didn’t like candy) just to bang on people’s doors and get something from them. But slowly over time, my Halloween decorations were put away, and eventually just given away.

Thanksgiving was even more of a non-event with C because he simply didn’t eat. I have talked about his sensory issues with food many a time here, and they really impacted family gatherings. It took years for him to be able to eat around other people, and he still struggles with it to this day. His feeding therapist always told us eating was the second most difficult thing for the human body to do next to sex. Eating involves so many sensations that are overpowering for sensory challenged kiddos. True that, we have found.

Christmas? It was a bit better, especially given C firmly believed in Santa until well into middle school, which I loved. Yet he was all about the material gifts, which I didn’t love so much. When a kid starts saying, “Just give me cash, it’s easier,” it sort of takes the meaning and fun out of it. He enjoyed the spirit of giving at first, but even that faded over time.

Still, preserving traditions was very important to me, and I kind of mourned the lack of them in our home. I grew up with very entrenched holiday traditions, and I envisioned my own family being that way as well. Like so many other things, that has not happened for us, despite early efforts to make it so. I eventually kind of gave up, and felt somewhat resentful for it.

This year? I am oddly grateful for a newfound awareness. With C away and everything feeling so strange, I have realized it is not about the pumpkins, the feast, or the tree. I am not opposed to those things, but they just don’t mean as much to me anymore. I was caught up – not in the stuff as much as in doing the stuff. Right now? I’m pretty content with my 24/7 Christmas carols and reveling in the recent snow. Watching the birds at the feeder, smelling the scented pine cones I picked up at the store, and peppermint hot chocolate are filling my soul more than enough this year.

December 2, 2018 at 6:00 pm 2 comments

A little Thanksgiving miracle

     I write a lot about C’s eating challenges, and it’s partly because it is one of the biggest struggles we face, but it’s also the most unusual to people who know nothing about it. It’s the kind of thing you never think about unless it’s a problem. And if it’s a problem, then it’s usually an overwhelming problem. People don’t understand why we can’t take C to a restaurant, and I usually let them think it’s his dietary restrictions that keep us away. But that we could work around. It’s the more incomprehensible issues that make restaurants problematic. For a child who can tell the difference between brands of peanut butter, won’t eat a raspberry if it’s unusually large, and eats mostly only single ingredient foods, restaurants are pretty much inaccessible. C will eat one particular brand of deli meat chicken, but putting it on bread for a sandwich makes it an entirely new food, one that requires much effort to add it to the list of things C will eat. And putting it together with avocado or tomatoes, some of his new “preferred” foods, is even more forbidden.

     You can therefore imagine my surprise when he requested a burrito for dinner tonight. Husband and I throw all kinds of things on tortillas, so it’s familiar to C, but his actually eating a burrito is something I didn’t expect for years to come. He won’t eat salsa (too many ingredients and a combination texture that is distasteful to him), and mixing beans and rice would certainly be taboo. Hesitantly, I asked him what he’d like on his burrito, expecting him to give me a single ingredient. “Guacamole (his word for avocado), tomatoes, rice, beans, salt and pepper.”  

     Hiding my surprise, I quickly whipped up a little burrito, with his supervision, and took it to the table. He remained standing, which is his latest comfort spot when faced with a new food. I always envision his body activating the fight or flight response and him sprinting off somewhere safe, but I promised him he would be okay, and down he sat. Teaching him how to hold a burrito is another exercise completely, so instead I held it with him and off he went. It fell apart on the plate, something I had to warn him about in advance (messed up food is generally unacceptable), but he kept at it anyway until the entire thing was gone.

     These are the things we celebrate around here. I doubt that C’s eating something new will ever be something we take for granted, although it is becoming slightly less dumbfounding when it happens as of late. Yet it is always cause for patting ourselves (and C) on the back. All those years of working patiently in feeding therapy might have paid off after all. He’s come a long way from barely being able to tolerate a new food even being on the table, to moving it closer to him, to it being on his plate, to touching it, to kissing it, to licking it, to finally taking that first bite. A process that has finally come down to this. A burrito. But not just a burrito; a cacophony of tastes, textures, colors, smells, and sights that has been thrown together and all mixed up. Just the way life is supposed to be.

November 30, 2008 at 9:06 pm 14 comments

Ode to a french fry

     Oh, french fry, dear, beloved french fry. I remember Mommy buying you, not once, but a million times. I remember the drive from the “M” to Ga’s house, and how Mommy and Ga would look at me in the rear-view mirror, waiting for me to take the plunge. I held the bag many times, but never looked inside. Then one day I remember touching one of you, and finally holding one of you in each fist. I then opened my mouth as wide as I could so you wouldn’t touch any part of me as I brought you toward my face once, twice, again and again. It was a few zillion more stops at the M before I could touch you with my tongue. Oh, salty slice of potato, once I started I couldn’t stop. I licked but wouldn’t bite, and by the time we got to Ga’s house, you were wilted in my hands. One day, I decided to take the plunge. I bit you. I ate the whole salty stick. But just one. And then I wouldn’t touch you again for months. Then I did again, by the zillions. I wanted you every day, and now we’re the best of friends.

     Oh, beloved french fry, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

November 16, 2008 at 9:52 pm 5 comments

Engaging the Senses

     “I told you to eat your cookies before eating the rest of that chicken.” I can’t believe I just said that to my kid. I’m not sure those words, in that order, have ever been uttered before. After the words came tumbling out of my mouth, I wondered, “Did I really just say that?” 

     For C, eating a cookie, one that most of us would fine plain, boring, and not nearly sweet enough (translate organic, and minus most of the things that usually go in cookies, like sugar, eggs, butter, and flour), is much harder than the chicken he had for lunch. Giving him a piece of cake would be the equivalent of giving most people a fried rat in eyeball stew. This is life with a sensory-afflicted child who is terrified of food.

     Yet all around are signs of huge success. C went to the dentist today, for the third time this year. The first visit included walking into the office, checking out the chair, and meeting the dentist – one of those cool, kids only dentists who specializes in children who fear the dentist (can I go?). The second visit involved actually getting in the chair, looking at all the tools, opening his mouth for the dentist, and allowing the sainted man to brush his teeth with a regular, dry toothbrush. This visit today included a brief but full cleaning, complete with a very small amount of unflavored cleaning paste. There were freaked out faces made, slight gags, and lots of looks to Mommy for positive reinforcement.

     But he did it. Amazing.

July 1, 2008 at 1:37 pm 7 comments


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