One of my bloggy friends left a comment on my last post about being ready to run away from home and wanting to come here. No, you may not come here, because I'm ready to run as well.
Two years and two months. That's how long this non-eating, weight-worry has been going on with Ethan. He made it up to the 5th percentile at one point in time, and we rejoiced. I think I can count on one hand how many days out of the 2 years and 2 months he's eaten more than a couple hundred calories worth of solid food.
And now he's sick again. Which I feel badly about on so many levels, because he was sick Saturday morning once and Sunday morning, once, but seemed fine on Monday, so we went to a friend's house. And then he got sick Monday night on our way to the baseball game, but we figured he was just overexcited, so we went anyway... and then he spent the entire day today on the couch or in bed (of his own volition), then he got up tonight, asked for a snack and promptly threw up all over the table and floor.
I. Am. Tired. I am tired of keeping track of his intake and pushing the supplement and worrying. I'm tired of this horrible stress when he does get sick and loses a few pounds, because those pounds are SO hard fought. I hate the fact that he turns 4 next week and is in 18-24 month clothes. I am tired of worrying about the double standard for food that we have in our house for him and for his sister. And I'm sad that so much of my mental energy is tied up in Ethan's stuff that some days I don't even think to check in with my husband, who has a serious degenerative autoimmune disease of his own, but doesn't complain, so his problems take second place because I just don't have the mental energy left.
My therapist keeps getting annoyed with me because whenever this stuff comes up in our meetings, I brush it off. Because I am insanely blessed to have good doctors and therapist and the finances to pay for them and the ability to stay home and make sure Ethan's eating and drinking and whatnot. But it's true. This is hard. And it's wearing me out.