Scrawny Pants

Cystic Fibrosis sweat test in May.
I felt like a slave driver making her climb stairs. 

Well, she doesn't look skinny in two outfits covered with two snow suits.  Yesterday she was weighed, 17lb 5 oz at 19 1/2 months. Her first time slowing from her own growth curve that I noticed to be 1 pound/quarter.  Her blood and sweat tests all came back normal.  So I figured we were free and clear.  After the results came back our doctor said she wants her to go to all the specialists (pediatric dietitian, gastroenterologist, and endocrinologist) again, even though they went over her test results and said they think she's fine. I put my foot down, canceled the appointment for the dietitian and decided I was done with her ideas.  If there was no underlying condition causing her skinniness and she is thriving the way she is (full of energy, growing taller, above developmental milestones for her age) why do we have to force her on to the growth curve of anglo, formula-fed babies?

Brian got a second opinion from one of the many martial arts parents that is a doctor. She said that between the ages of 1 and 2 is a crucial time of development for the brain, especially the white matter which is largely made from lipids. This made more sense to me. My doctor has never said why she's so concerned with her weight and I've never asked why, assuming she just wants her to gain weight to gain weight. So yesterday I kind of apologized to her for my little fit and agreed to take her to the dietitian, wrangle her down twice a day to administer some antihistamine that hopefully will have the side effect of increased appetite after a couple of months, and count every calorie that goes in her mouth.  Thank goodness for the kitchen scale.

Deep down, I really think there's nothing wrong with Esme. I keep remembering a medical study I heard about where the doctor would ask the mother if she thought there was something wrong with her child and 96% of the time the mom was right.  But I can't base her care on my opinions, and what kind of mother would I be if I wasn't trying my hardest.

220 calorie lunch today. Pretty good. All rules have gone out the door.  She doesn't have to eat what we eat, she doesn't have to be in her seat, and she can eat off of our plates.  She starts out in her seat.  Gets down after a few bites, and I follow her around with bites.  I hide all vegetables until she's done eating, or she'll just whine for our salad. She basically eats carbs (rice, noodles, bread) dripping with butter, eggs smothered in cheese, and the cream from the top of the whole milk yogurt. She's been bad about drinking until this week I realized she will drink milk almost endlessly if she has her own big girl cup. It's scary to watch, mainly because spills mess up my measurements. Sometimes I think if her and I could just switch bodies for a couple weeks.  I would get nice and skinny, she would get plump... and this place would be a mad house.  After this paragraph I think I might actually be going crazy.