Friday, August 12, 2011

Failure to Thrive.

Aquaman was diagnosed with inorganic Failure to Thrive as an infant.  Some basics:  Failure to Thrive means a kidlet is not gaining weight as expected.  Sometimes there are organic reasons (such as a metabolic disease).  Our little booger, though, had inorganic, which means there is no physical reason for not gaining weight.  When he came home, Aquaman wasn't on the growth charts.  At 2, he wasn't on the growth charts.  Despite the small12 month clothes (which means most kids grow out of them at 12 months, he was twice that age) we dressed him in, everything was baggy.  He had to wear overall type garments to keep them up.  His hip bones stuck out, we could see his vertebrae, there was very little fat on his toddler body.  Aquaman didn't eat much solid food at all at that time.  He drank pediasure from a bottle.

So, the kid was skinny, he's on the growth charts now, who cares?  He's healed, right?

Nope.  See, Failure to Thrive affects more than stature.  Because he didn't get the nutrients he should have at the time he should have, his brain works differently.  Well, it's more than because he didn't get the nutrients.  Let's think for a minute:  there was NO physical reason for him not to gain weight.  None.  Let that sink in.



Do you understand what happened?

So, a loss of food during infancy isn't as simple as "feed the kid."  A lack of proper nutrition (and touch) during infancy affects kids their whole lives.  They can be socially delayed, gross motor skills can be delayed (think, they're not rolling over, they don't crawl and walk at the normal times) puberty can be delayed (even if they received nutrition AFTER infancy), it can affect their cognitive aptitude and it usually sets a kid up for eating disorders.

Why eating disorders?  Well, food becomes control to a kid like that.  It's sort of like baby anorexia.  It's not about the food, it's about the deep needs every child has.  How does that translate to every day life?  There are food avoidance tactics that are pretty amazing.  Aquaman makes most picky eaters look like adventurous kids.  Being upset about anything affects Aquaman's ability to eat.

Gone are the days where I had to teach him to chew.  He now knows chewing is moving your mouth up and down with food between your teeth.  It doesn't work if the food is on your tongue, under your tongue, or in your cheeks.  However, with that knowledge came more food avoidance techniques.

When Aquaman doesn't want to eat, he has some pretty predictable MOs.
1.  Say it's not your favorite and that you hate what's being served.  This is the first line of defense, even if it's chocolate chip cookies.  After that is rebuffed, point out the little things that are wrong, too much ketchup, not enough ketchup, there's a bump, there's a chunk, it's the wrong color, it's stale, it's mushy, it's firm . . . whatever you can use to describe the food.

2.  Sit stoically.  Watch everyone else eat with a slight pout on your face.

3.  Try to fill up with liquids.  Even water works.

4.  Complain that your food is cold/no longer cold.

5.  Throw a fit.  A 20 minute crying "I don't know how to eat" while kicking and screaming, rolling around on the floor and huge tears streaming down his face SHOULD work.

6.  Say your stomach hurts (sometimes it really does, but Mom and Dad will worry and fuss over you with this one).

7.  Don't chew your food, keep shoveling it in your mouth then try to swallow.  This often leads to regurgitation, which should make Mom and Dad have pity on you.

8.  Eat the darn food so you can get up from the table.

Yes, mealtimes can take two hours at our home.  Aquaman has superhero powers with food avoidance.  Unfortunately, the commonly quoted, "He'll eat when he's hungry enough," advice does not hold true with Aquaman.  How do I know?  I tried.  For five days that little bugger lived on 5 bites of food a day.  I set out his favorite foods, didn't try AT ALL to get him to eat.  He started getting squirrely early on.  By the third day he was having incredible problems concentrating.  I finally broke down and sat him at the table when he could barely stand up, said he was dizzy and wanted to sleep all the time.  He felt better as soon as he ate.  Imagine that.

See, his food fights are not about me, they aren't about food, they're about controlling his life and feeling loved.  When Aquaman is worried about anything (gosh, there's a fly in the house, I'm starting a new grade, my shoes aren't green, a leaf just blew past), he stops eating because that is within his control.  When he's feeling like his world is spiraling away from him and his needs aren't being met, well, he stops eating.

So, just meet his needs, right?  Then this will all go away.

Sure.

No problem.

Well, maybe one or two little bitty problems.  His body is 6.  His cognative skills are older than 6 (but I won't get him tested 'cuz who really cares, so long as he's OK?), his social skills are about 4 - 5, his emotional skills are about 3 - 4.  Let's translate this.

While playing with his brother, Aquaman wants the BLUE car because it would go so well with the yellow car.  Yellow and blue do make green, after all.  However, his brother is playing with said blue car, and is in the midst of loading and unloading a very important load of imaginary weaponry (or toilets, depends on his mood).  Aquaman says, "hey, I NEED that car, give it to me."  Spidey says, "NO.  I AM PLAYING WITH IT NO WAY NO HOW."  Aquaman reaches to take it.  Spidey resists, ends up pushing him.  Aquaman runs to me, crying "Spidey pushed me."

I can either hover and pop in immediately, saying, "Dear, if you want the blue car, you need to either talk to your brother or wait your turn.  Why do you want the blue car?"  to smooth things out before the hitting begins.  Or I can wait until he's reaching, then say "Dear, your brother said not now, you need to wait your turn,"  OR I can sit back, watch the events occur in their predictable fashion and either reprimand them BOTH for using their hands and not their words or ignore the slight skirmish.

Not a big deal, right?  Sure, until it's happening 200 times a day.

Sure, until his friends don't want to play with him because he doesn't play right.

Sure.

He tries so hard, he does what he understands, but he just doesn't get those social things as well as some kids.

So, welcome to a bit of Failure to Thrive.

No comments:

Post a Comment