Mistakes Made, Lessons Learned

I noticed I turn to this blog at times of high stress or worry, or the occasional wonderful thing. Sometimes just an update.

Well, have another worried, high stress entry in the saga of this family. Because Murphy's Law, you know.

K cannot have gluten, dairy, etc. Not "Mommy jumped on the latest fad diet" can't have it-"it makes him hospitalization-worthy ill" can't have it.

And I've known that for two years.

But I got lazy. I was tired, and sick, and in a rush, and I got lazy.

I stopped ensuring he had his proper food with him when he went to other people's houses, because he is not their child and I don't expect that they'll have K-friendly food simply lying around. I started letting him have fast food every now and then, because I was in a rush, we had an appointment two hours away, and I forgot the cooler.

And I know better.

There are no excuses. There is no forgiveness for this.

Chalk it up to another failure.

I knew better.

On Monday, I woke up so sick I could hardly stand. I went to the doctor. He told me I had the stomach flu.

K had been sick since last Wednesday. I chalked it up to the stomach flu. But, just when I thought he was getting better, he got worse. So I called his doctor and rushed him the three blocks over to his office.

Six rounds of blood draws, two x-rays, and a lot of vomit and diarrhea later, K has an inflamed, enlarged colon and is quite badly dehydrated, with potassium and sodium levels severely out of whack due to the dehydration.

How did this happen, you might ask?

Simple: Last Wednesday, I packed him and his brother lunch-one for school, the other for the sitter. I switched the lunches on accident. K got Byrd's wheat-filled spinach raviolis. Byrd got K's chicken and rice. The first assault to his tummy.

That night, I had to work a night shift, so my neighbor took charge of my boys. I forgot to bring dinner, and they fed my little K gluten filled food, because they didn't have anything else and thus no other choice.

Saturday, I went out for the first time since moving back to FL-a date with my mom. My stepdad watched the boys. Once again, I didn't pack them food. My parents have plenty-why bother? Oh ya-because they are not responsible for K and thus do not have GF, dairy free food on hand. K had more food he couldn't eat.

Monday, sick as a dog and too tired to think about what I was doing, I gave in to K's demand for a cheeseburger on the way home from school. I got him a gluten and dairy filled burger from McDonald's.

By Tuesday, my sweet boy was sick as a dog, pale as Casper himself, and could hold nothing down. At this point, I knew I had the stomach flu. I assumed that's what this was. I didn't add up what he'd ingested until this afternoon, when all the test results came back and his doctor looked at me "Had you not brought him in, you could have killed him."

A well-deserved punch to the gut.

I know better. I know he can't have it, but because it is not like a "normal" allergy (it upsets his tummy-no big deal, right?), and because I had been so good about it for so long, I didn't think it would do so much harm. And one day probably wouldn't have. But his poor little tummy didn't have time to heal from the initial assault of the switched lunch bags before the next assault at dinner, and the next assault just a few days later, and the next...

Why? Why did I even allow that junk in my house? Knowing he couldn't have it, why did I continue to buy it for my other child? It's a) not a good idea, exactly because of what happened on Wednesday, and b) not very cost-effective. What on earth possessed me to forget to bring food that he can eat to the homes of people he does not live with, whose responsibility does not fall into making sure he has food his body can digest? Why, knowing what it is, would I bother to buy him a meal from McDonald's?

A million reasons-a tired, over-worked, sick single mother not thinking straight...it's easier...it's cheaper...so on and so forth.

And I wrought medical havoc on my little boy's tummy.

GF is not a fad.

Do not sneak little Johnny a piece of cake because "Oh, his mother just jumped on the bandwagon."

She might have.

Or little Johnny could be just like K, and you might be the nail in his coffin.

My little boy is going to be just fine.

I lucked out. We caught him in time to keep him out of the hospital and heal his tummy.

I threw out all the "normal" food in my house tonight. I will never buy it again. I don't care how much easier it is-I will stop at the grocery store and buy a box of GF crackers if I must the next time we've got an appointment and I forget the cooler.

I have no excuse. I knew. I knew, and I let him have it anyways. I got lucky this time, but I will not allow a next time.

Don't just assume a parent has jumped on the bandwagon of GF and dairy free. Don't just assume a child can have whatever yours can, simply because your child has no restrictions.

For God's sake, don't make my mistake.

You might not get so lucky.

Rite of Passage

Every American child knows that getting your first bike is a rite of passage. It is the first of many large, noticeable steps on the road to independence and earning your parents trust.

For his fourth birthday, K joined the ranks of American children who own a bike.

Knowing that he likely wouldn't be able to use it, and would possibly be upset about it, I chose to get him a bike (with training wheels!) anyways-what harm could it do? If he had it and couldn't use it, it would serve as motivation to learn to use it, to learn to use his leg muscles in ways that they were not designed for.

K will not watch where he is going. He stares instead at his feet on the pedals. He cannot get off the bike on his own. He cannot turn. He cannot stop himself.

But he can get his helmet and pads on himself. He can get on the bike himself. Best of all?

HE CAN PEDAL BY HIMSELF.

"I do not want you to help, Mom," he said to me, as he climbed onto that bike again. With a storm raging outside in the Florida heat, I had decided to allow him to attempt riding his bike in our living room.

Imagine, if you will, my absolute shock when, while draining the pasta for dinner, I turned around to find him seated proudly on his bike right behind me...and the jolt when he asked me to help him get off, at which point he turned his bike back around, clambered back on, and rode proudly off into the living room.

ALONE.

No Mommy pushing him, no adult running along behind him, ready and waiting to patch up his ouchies when he falls. ALONE. He crashed into a wall when he couldn't figure out how to turn to avoid it, a problem he wouldn't have encountered to start with had he bothered to look up from his feet on the pedals, and he cannot get down alone...

BUT HE CAN DO IT.

Children all across the US learn to ride bikes by the time they are in kindergarten without training wheels. K will enter pre-k in two weeks; his bike has training wheels. His bike will probably have training wheels for a very long time. The point is not how he does it, the point, my dears, is that HE DOES IT.