Our Chipmunk

Micah has two therapists, an occupational therapist and a developmental therapist. He was officially diagnosed "developmentally delayed" when he was just an infant, and though I don't feel that he is delayed that much anymore, his therapists still think he is, so they still come. And I don't mind it. It's free, so why not have someone come and play with him for two hours every week, right?

Micah's developmental therapist is, like, eighty years old. Seriously. And probably once per month, she can't come over because she has this sickness or that sickness. I can't believe she's still working at her age! She is really, really sweet, though. Her name is Eunice. (I smile whenever I say her name, because it reminds me of a character in one of my favorite movies, What's Up, Doc? I really need to own that movie.) She works with Micah on color recognition, matching, puzzles, and a little bit with speech. (We had him tested for speech, and apparently, he's doing well enough not to need a speech therapist. I disagree with the test results, but oh well. I'll have him tested through the school district when he turns three.)

The Infant/Toddler Program just renewed/didn't renew contracts with each of its therapists a couple of months ago. Eunice is still with us, but Lisa, Micah's occupational therapist, didn't have her contract renewed. That made me sad. I really liked Lisa. We have a new OT, Melissa.

I really like Melissa. We mesh well. She's funny and kind of edgy. The first week that she came, she brought some toys with different textures. She wanted to see if Micah was having any kind of sensory-perception problems. He did just fine. Then she asked if we had any rice that we could put into a container, to get Micah to play in the rice. I guess some kids with sensory perception disorder cannot stand the feel of dry rice. So I got our rice out. She hid some small toys in the rice and had Micah dig them out. He had no problem. In fact, he started throwing rice all over my living room. That was pretty awesome. So, apparently, SPD isn't an issue with him.

After Micah was done with his rice extravaganza, the kids begged me if they could play in the rice, as well. I let them have at it. They had a blast:

I've always liked the feel of dry rice in big containers. Same with dry beans in big containers, like they have in the grocery store.

Melissa hasn't brought any more toys over since that first week. For the past two months, she has been working on Micah with his eating. She and I differ a little bit on our opinion of Micah's eating issues. Micah, as most toddlers, is very picky. He likes bread, cheese, bologna, bananas, the norm toddler fare. If we give him something he doesn't like, he will either a) not touch it, or b) pocket it in his cheeks, like a little chipmunk. And there it stays, FOREVER. For at least a few hours, or until a parent gets sick of it and tells Micah to go spit the food in the garbage. It's nuts. Get it? Chipmunk? Nuts? I'm so punny.

I don't care if he pockets food that he doesn't like. To me, he's doing the equivalent of spitting his food in his napkin, sitting at the table for hours without touching his food, or trying to throw his food into the garbage when his folks aren't looking. (I did all of the above when I was a kid. I totally didn't get away with the garbage trick. Dang it. And to this day, I still hate potato soup.)

But to Melissa, this pocketing business is so perplexing. It really gets under her skin. Every single week, she has me serve Micah lunch. It has to be all food that he doesn't like. She sits there for an hour, trying to make Micah chew and swallow the hated foods. Sometimes it goes well; other times, not. Once, she and he fought over one grape. ONE GRAPE. For an entire hour. Sometimes he'll eat for her, if she spoon-feeds him, but mainly, they sit there. A war of wills.

I'm fine with her using up her entire hour on one grape. She can knock herself out. The problem is, now she wants ME to do this with him. She wants me to sit with him at every meal, spoon- or fork-feeding him one bite at a time, begging him to chew and swallow, until all of the food is gone. Which could take hours, folks. And she wants me to only serve him foods that he hates.

It's a nice sentiment, but seriously, I do not have that kind of time. I don't even have time to shower some days. Yesterday, I didn't get to shower until eleven at night. I wore jammies all day long. This "four kids" business is insanely busy.

Melissa is single and doesn't have kids. So I don't think she really understands how crazy my life is right now. Every week, she asks if I've only been serving Micah foods that he hates. Every week, I sheepishly tell her that no, when I'm really busy, I offer both foods that he likes and foods that he doesn't like, because if I don't have the time to spoon-feed him, then at least he's getting some kind of nutrition. Then she gives me the third degree. What did I feed him this morning? Did he eat it? Did he feed himself? What other foods did I give him this week? Did I spoon-feed him?

Maybe I'm an enabler. Maybe I'm not keeping my child's best interests in mind. But I seriously don't think I'll ever have three hours per day to spoon-feed my child who is perfectly capable of spoon-feeding himself. I can't force him to like foods he doesn't like. I can't force him to chew and swallow. It's physically impossible. We're on WIC, and whenever they test the iron in Micah's blood, he passes with flying colors. He's in the 75th percentile in his weight and height. I'm not concerned about his eating. I'd rather her spend more time with fine motor skills or whatever the heck they think he still needs.

Gage got referred to the Infant/Toddler program because he was a NICU baby. They just sent me a letter, saying, "Call us! Let's screen him for problems!" Part of me wants to just throw that letter away. I don't think I can handle any more therapists in my life right now.

I'm hoping Melissa gives up the food fight. She's kind of scrappy, and so is Micah, so I wonder if a lot of this is just her not wanting to give in to him and him not wanting to give in to her. I'm so tired of getting the third degree every week that I'm considering making a food log, so that, when she asks a million questions, I can just hand her the log and say, "Here. This is how our week went with feeding. Yes, he hates some foods. Now can we move on??"