I had the usual stress dreams last night. I was in school, not going to class (why?), about to fail my exams. This time I was infatuated with one of my teachers (new twist, but it's spring) and wondering how the failing would affect my crush. When I am this tense the anxiety wraps me up tight as I sleep.
Today was therapy and a visit with the feeding clinic. Therapy has been getting more difficult with Z. and that's a good thing, I suppose. She is asserting herself more and more. Of course that means that she isn't compliant at all and everything the OT asks her to do she shakes her head no. Bounce on the ball? No. Swing on the cool swing? No. Play with blocks? Do a puzzle? No. Stack blocks? Play with the peg board? Jump on the trampoline? Crawl to anything? Play with bubbles? Color with crayons or markers? Crawl through the tunnel? Play the instruments? Um, no. That would be a big fat no. It's a tad embarrassing, but at 18 months (9 months developmentally) there really isn't anything I can make her do. I cajole along with the therapist. I sing. I say, "Z., you be a nice girl." But I respect her boundaries, because you have precious few boundaries when you are her age, even fewer when you have a million doctors in your posse.
We went home, hung out, fidgeted, and went to pick up K. Well, I was the only one fidgeting. I hate the feeding clinic. Oh, the people are all very nice there. Everyone has been unfailingly kind and sympathetic and helpful. But the feeding clinic is still the loudest reminder of my failings as a mother. Because she still isn't eating, we haven't made any significant progress, and we do not follow their recommendations to a T. We just can't. There aren't enough hours in the day.
So I fidgeted and fretted and stewed. I felt anxious and panicky and angry and disappointed and nervous. I was alternately defiant and weepy. It was impossible to tell whether I would go in and give them a good piece of my mind or flop into a sobbing pile on the floor.
On the way we stopped at the drive in. It seemed like a treat to eat flat burgers and tasteless fries and drink root beer with two little ones climbing all over us in the comfort of our own vehicle. That is how disturbed I was.
We had the visit. The nurses and the doctor and the OT and the dietician and the speech therapist and the psychologist all clucked over us and listened to us and talked and asked questions and watched her eat and rock in the high chair. Everyone was quite happy about the tube. They gave us good, reasonable recommendations. Confirmed that she is getting enough calories per day (how could that possibly be?) and gave us some ideas for upping the calories a bit. Talked about an essential fatty acid supplement, which I had on my list to discuss.
It was productive. I did not feel very much like a failure either during or after the visit. I have a plan that I feel is reasonable and I can follow (except for getting up at 4am every night to turn off the pump). We will put the big boots back on and keep trying.
Tonight I am having bad dreams again. The nervous tension and adrenaline are still coursing through my blood. But I can ignore the bad dreams tonight. Tomorrow I am back to being a regular mom with limitations and strengths and a kid who is making progress at her own pace.
Posted by grrlTravels at April 19, 2006 2:42 PMI just bounced into your site via American Family, I hope you don't mind the intrusion. Have you tried using a timer to turn the pump off at night? Like the ones that you use to time lights in your house to turn on and off when you go out of town.
My friend's son was very speech-delayed at 18 months(no hearing loss) and made incredible improvements with a speech therapist. He's now five and very verbal. Hang in there.
Posted by: Elise at April 20, 2006 4:37 PMDelurking to say you are NOT a faliure as a mother, even if you sometimes feel like one. You're someone is who rising to an incredible challenge and doing so with a whole heck of a lot more grace than anyone else I know would. You're doing your best for Z, and that's a victory it's self.
Posted by: Anne at April 20, 2006 4:53 PMI hear ya. I had big failure written all over my head when my then 18 month old was testing at 10 months for global delays.
But you know what? He did progress at his own pace and it was one that I learned very quickly to be proud of and love and admire. Because after all it was all about him and his NEW milestone chart - which his therapy team decided to chart out for me (that is when I threw away the baby books).
But I admit, it was a struggle at one time, when every other kid his around me was spouting off sentences and building towers and running and jumping. But I got over it. He only said two word sentences between age 2-3. Oh, and he grunted a lot. When he turned 4 we could understand him 50% of the time. By age 5, 80% and age 6 probably 99% of the time.
And that child now? A mouthy 7 year old kindergartner getting in trouble for talking in school. Still has trouble with L and TH and S but it's not slowed him down from having an attitude or communicating his needs.
Don't make me cry, do you hear me, just don't make me cry! You are so the best Mama a little girl could have, you are doing a great job. I think of you a lot, we only had a couple of days of a baby that wouldn't eat/drink and if I admired you before I admire you 3 zillion times more now, not because your the perfect mother (who is) but because you keep picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, slapping a smile back on and trying again.
Posted by: Debberoo at April 20, 2006 11:04 PMMan, Amy, you just floor me. Not only are you such an incredible writer, but everything here just screams incredible mom. I am, as always, in complete awe of you.
Posted by: Karen at April 22, 2006 7:28 PM