It’s been too long since my last blog post. After a few months of a hiatus, it’s like I’m starting over. Only this time it’s not all bad news. At least it shouldn’t be. Why then do I feel like the first verse of Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” sums up what I’m about to write?
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;”
We’ve come to that point in the therapy world where we have to make life-altering decisions. One that affect us (financially more than anything) but affects “B” so much more. We’ve taken a 3 month break from food school. B’s therapist went on maternity leave back in October. I’m going to be completely honest here. I haven’t really been following through with her food program here at home, and to be honest she hasn’t really regressed. She also hasn’t made a ton of forward progress either. So it’s here we have to decide. Do we keep up with the program, or do we kiss her therapist for all her hard work and say goodbye? …continue reading
Usually I try to keep my blog posts as upbeat and positive as possible. I’m not going to lie. Tonight was one of those nights. The frustration, the tears, exasperation, and the overwhelming need to scream. I’m not talking about my 4.5 year old’s emotional state (although that was very much part of the scene I’m about to describe) . I’m talking about myself. I’m talking about my reaction to her rough night. I’m talking about those nights when I realize she’s trying to hold it together, can’t, and I want to sit down on the floor and lose it-right along with her.
Nutella. Another new food. A European food I happen to think is quite delicious. A food her therapist and I thought she could relate to. It’s thick, rich, and creamy like peanut butter, and “B” loves peanut butter. It tastes like chocolate. Another flavor she tends to like (most of the time). Boy was I wrong! Times 1000. Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job of prepping “B” about Nutella. I went against everything I learned in food school. Instead of putting it on her “learning plate” (the plate where anything she hasn’t been exposed to resides until she’s ready to learn about the properties of that particular food), I smeared it on some bread and placed it right on her dinner plate. BIG MISTAKE! Mommy-messed-up-my-dinner-routine equals a full on melt-down. Not that I shouldn’t have expected it. I should have, but I had some high hopes. Those high apple pie, in the sky hopes. Too high apparently. …continue reading