A few years ago one of my girlfriends told me that she had long ago absolved herself of any sexually themed guilt. I’m so impressed with that. I consider guilt to be one of the things I’m naturally good at. My biological parents were 16 years old, Catholic (her), and Mormon (him). They had a lot to feel guilty about. It’s in my DNA. (Although, babymommy was off the hook for the birth control thing, obviously…)
Inspired, for a while I thought I’d throw off the shackles as well. I could start small. Release myself from the bonds of disposable diaper guilt. Maybe work my way up to online file sharing guilt and carbon footprint guilt. I was only moderately successful. We still use disposable diapers, but I’ve taken to cleaning my house with dried edamame hulls and rainwater. And we’ve already discussed my crushing SUV guilt.
Le sigh. It’s how I roll.
So today’s theme is more Mommy Guilt. I hope I’m not becoming too predictable. It’s equal opportunity today. I can’t seem to parent either of my children without emotional turmoil.
Sweet Pea’s comes in the form of “what have they been feeding you?” If you’ve met her you know she’s really small. Petit, we like to say. She’s 4 years old and weighs about 26 lbs. She’s not short, per se. I mean, she’s not towering over the other 4 year olds. But when people comment on her size they don’t usually mean her height. And people ALWAYS comment on her size. I tell her she’ll love it when she’s 25.
Yesterday we were at the pool, and Mr. G was talking with a new golf buddy who happens to also be a doctor. He’s some kind of specialist – originally I thought Proctologist. But maybe a Gastroenterologist. (Which, incidentally, makes him more likeable…?) Anyway, he has a daughter the same age as Sweet Pea who seems to be built a little taller and stockier than average. Which is only to say that our two girls, when standing side by side - in swimmysuits no less, represent opposite ends of the growth spectrum. It seems like that’s always how it goes too. And for some reason the child who is in the 90th percentile always looks “normal” and “healthy” and my little wisp elicits a barrage of questions about her eating habits and genealogy. Which is precisely what happened yesterday. And as luck would have it, my niece, of the “she’s built just like her cousin” reference was there too. All we needed was Mr. G’s four foot, nine inch grandmother in a two piece and we’d have had our genetic rationalization right there to illustrate why we don’t sweat being small. Because really, we just don’t sweat it. I was small-ish. She eats. She’s healthy.
So GolferDoctor asks Mr. G if we’ve ever had her tested for a wheat allergy. (Nope.) And goes on to say that Celiac Sprue is very common, and often undiagnosed because some kids will have no symptoms. But one of the big tells in kids is weightloss and/or “growth failure”. Which I totally dismissed until this morning when she got dressed for school in toddler panties and a size 18 month skort that fit perfectly, but only because it has TUCKS SEWN IN THE WAIST. Erm. Did I mention that she’s really petit?
Just now I have been reading about Celiac Sprue on the interweb, and have learned that kids who are diagnosed early – with a simple bloodtest – will often have a big growth spurt if they go on a Gluten free diet.
So now what? Do I take her to the doctor and get her finger pricked based on an offhand comment by my husbands golf buddy? Does that make me all crazy and paranoid? He is a doctor. If I DON’T get her tested am I running the risk that she will have an increased chance of osteoporosis, cancer, thyroid diseases, abdominal distress, etc. etc. etc. etc. ETC.? She is really not going to like getting her finger pricked.
The Sweet William guilt trip is all about how we quit nursing on Wednesday. But that’s stupid guilt, because he could care less. As long as there is food coming at him in some form he is not terribly concerned with the vessel. I think I’m just sad because I wasn’t ready yet. He’s my last baby and all that. But it was getting to be really painful, and I was supplementing with formula anyway – he doesn’t share his sisters small size, or small appetite.
So waaah. She’ll have 3 months of superior breast-milk-enhanced brain development on him, but he’ll go to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. So is that win/win or lose/lose?
I’ll donate some $$ to wind power to make up for all the energy I consumed while selfishly typing all this nonsense. Or maybe I’ll just eat a cookie. Wracked with guilt and voluptuous go hand in hand.