My eyes are slightly puffy this morning…the kind of puffiness that exists after a girl has had a good cry the night before.
I took Buster to have a check up yesterday, his last was 2 1/2 years ago before we left California. I had a lot on my mind with him. He has issue’s at school, nothing I thought was too out of the ordinary. His teacher worried about his hearing because she could be right next to him talking and get no response.
I know better. The kid has an amazing ability to tune us out. He’s a dreamer. Sometimes a trouble maker. But he is intelligent and though I’ve had extra work to do with him at home, he’s progressing through his first grade year at an average speed.
Buster has always been a bigger child. He was born at 10lbs and though he was exclusively on momma’s milk, he gained a pound a week for the first few months of his life.
His height was always in the 75% and his weight was in the 95%. Consistently. He was stocky, like his Dad. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I don’t know when it happened. It crept up on me. They checked his height and weight, and then the doctor said the words that sent me spiraling into panic. “Your son is considered to be obese.”
Obese? What happened to stocky? What happened to “he’s just a bigger kid, he’ll grow out of it.” He’s obese.
I feel like a failure.
I have never had a weight problem in my life. No one in my immediate family is obese. We all have a healthy relationship with food. We eat to live in my family. As children, food was never a big deal. Mom made the meals, we ate them, or complained and were forced to eat them.
I remember the first five years of my life consisted of three meals. The same every day because we couldn’t afford much else…oatmeal, pb and j, and chili. That’s what we ate almost every day.
Mr.Good’s family does have problems. Both his parents are morbidly obese. They both have type 2 diabetes. His dad has rheumitoid arthritis. His oldre brother and sister are obese. His other sister constatly battle the bulge but manages to stay fit. Mr. Good is sotcky. I feed him healthy food. I don’t buy ice cream very often. It’s his family down fall. He plays basketball twice a week. He builds kitchens and cabinets for a living. My husband is healthy.
So how did this happen to my Buster? He’s a part of me. Doesn’t that count for something?
Every question the doctor asked was answered honestly.
“What do you eat for dinner?”
“Last night was couscous and pork loin. Buster tried the couscous. He didn’t like it. The night before was grilled chicken and cabbage salad.”
“What is usually for lunch?”
“I pack a turkey sandwich, or pb and j. A yogurt, a fruit. Sometimes a little handful of kettle chips or crackers.”
“Breakfast?”
“Mostly cold cereal. Frosted mini-wheats. Cheerios. Once or twice a week I make pancakes or scrambled eggs. Sometimes he just has English muffins.”
“Does he snack?”
“Yes they still have snack in first grade. Usually just crackers or a granola bar.”
“Well it could be what he’s drinking?”
“We hardly ever have soda. (another item Mr.Good grew up on and loves.) Only on special occasions. And I don’t buy juice unless someone is sick.”
“It sounds like you are doing everything right. We’ll take a blood sample and check his thyroid and glucose levels. And here is the number for a good nutritionist.”
Okay. We’re doing everything right. But I can’t help but think back to every time he’s had fast food. Though it is not often, maybe it should have been never. What about the times I could bring myself to make dinner and I ordered pizza? Was I gradually adding on the pounds without knowing it? While the rest of the world can occasionally partake, I feel like my son must be denied these things indefinately. Meanwhile, my other children are average size, my daughter is on the smaller side. I was sent to the nutritionist once because she was under weight.
The doctor said there is not much else we can do, except bump up his activity level. They don’t want children losing weight at this age. Their hope is that he can just maintain, and then grow out of it when he goes through puberty.
So my son is to remain obese through his childhood years. That’s a long time. He’s only 6. Somewhere along the way I have failed my son. I am his mother, I am his nutritionist. His personal physician. I didn’t do my job well. I’m crushed at this point. But I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want him to know how incredibly scared I am for him. I don’t want him to have THIS struggle in life. There are so many extra challenges he will have to face. My Buster.
Good Enough
