Waiting is the hardest part

July 1, 2011


My oldest has been allergic to milk her entire life. We’ve known this ever since her first bottle of formula at eight weeks of age, when what came out of her bottom should have been classified it as a hazmat site.


Then, at about a year, she tried yogurt. A few minutes later, as we were strapping her into her car seat in our brand-new vehicle, she spewed it all over the seat in front of her.


Good times.

We had her tested every few years and once when she was about four, we were told that she had outgrown her allergy to casein, a protein in milk (cow and goat). So we started to feed her foods with milk in them, but interestingly, she would not drink milk, eat cheese, or even ice cream.

That lasted a year and then she had a full-blown allergic reaction—hives from head to toe, getting worse over three days before they slowly started to subside.

Another test showed her allergy was “back” though it never really went away. I think that she avoided so much dairy during the year because she it made her feel “funny” (her mouth starts to itch), not due to taste.

We last tested three years ago and the test was immediately positive. But now that she is over ten, we’ve read statistics that say only about a fraction of kids who start with a food allergy, keep it past double digits. The most common allergies to keep are peanut, while milk is frequently outgrown as the immune system ages.

Her scratch test on Wednesday was negative. Now we wait for the results of a blood test.

I’m trying not to get too excited, to already envision a summer of cheesy pizza and cold ice cream and butter on corn. I know we have plenty of great substitutes that we’ve all come to enjoy over the years and that a milk allergy today is not a terrible affliction.

But, it’s still a little bit exciting to think that a trip to a restaurant may no longer require a lengthy chat with the wait staff. That we can stop at the ice cream stand near the beach without worrying they won’t have sorbet. That I will no longer have to send her to every birthday party with her own homemade cupcake.

But mostly, I’m hoping to send my increasingly-independent Belly off into the world without her worrying that she will choose something incorrectly and become sick.

I’m not refilling the prescription for that Epi-Pen just yet.
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Filed Under: Fairly Odd Kids, Fairly Odd Me, Health n Food Talk 5 Comments

Hitting the road

June 26, 2011


When I was a wee thing, I was one of the least athletic kids in our neighborhood which was filled with soccer stars, hockey players and kids who could do a cartwheel or throw a ball far.

I? Could read really fast.

But, along with reading, I could pedal a bicycle and, on our bikes, we were all equal. From Toughskins to short-shorts, banana seats to 3-speeds, a pack of kids would fly around our quiet “figure 8” neighborhood for seemingly hours, until the street lights went on and we had to go home.

When I became a gawky teenager without a boyfriend, I would hop on my blue ten-speed and venture far beyond my neighborhood, making a big “O” though town. I didn’t feel so gawky on my bike.

I picked up again after college, riding on weekends and on summer nights, through the streets of Providence, from the north side all the way over to the East Side where I’d ride next to fast-moving cars who would just barely move over to pass me. It was then that I rode the MS150, a tough two-day race which, at that time, took me from Rhode Island to Connecticut, up through Massachusetts, to Vermont and then a skip over to New Hampshire. I did it totally alone, expect for the hundreds of other riders, but I’d long since grown comfortable by myself on a bike, just swooshing along.

Over the next twenty years, I’d ride here and there but when I decided to jump into mountain biking, I almost lost my enjoyment for two wheels entirely. All of a sudden, I was biking with other people, people who were so much better and less fearful than me. All of a sudden, I was uncertain of my abilities and anxious at the top of any incline. I became that scared, nervous, unathletic me all over again.

I tried to like mountain biking but didn’t. And then I had babies, three of them in rapid succession, and biking, mountain or road was not on the agenda.

So, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic tonight after getting my butt on my bike twice in the past few nights. I love how quickly everything zips by. I love the feeling of wind on my face and arms. And I love that I feel strong and quick and capable on my bike.

Just don’t ask me to pop a wheelie.


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Becoming an athlete

June 22, 2011

My youngest child definitely moves to the beat of a different drummer. He’s the kid who played soccer for two years, but would get bored about halfway through and walk the rest of the game. No amount of encouragement could convince the kid to run another step.

He has absolutely no interest in soccer anymore. Or baseball, football, hockey, lacrosse or any organized sport that most of his peers are playing.

Right now he has two activities: Hip Hop and Chess-and-Math class. And, if he had to pick one, Chess-and-Math would win.

But, I also don’t want him to think that he can’t be an athlete just because he enjoys different pursuits. This isn’t as easy an idea to promote when, even by the age of 6, kids are encouraged to try out for sports teams before it is “too late”. And though he can kick ass on a bicycle and is thrilled to be taking a boys’ gymnastics class this summer, he does have some fine motor skills issues that need work (he see an occupational therapist during the school year).

Late yesterday, we went to a very cool track-and-field meet for kids of all ages and abilities just to check it out. There were heats in javelin, shotput, long jump and then a few running races.

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D gamely joined the boys “ages 6 and under” at the javelin and long jump, though he’d never done either before. Then, prior to the running races, they handed out ribbons for first, second and third place for each age group.

When his name was called for “second place: javelin” we all cheered as he smiled ear-to-ear. He immediately asked me for a pen so he could write his name on his ribbon.

When they announced “second place, long jump” and called his name, I saw his little fist pump into the air in jubilation.

There were two more participatory ribbons, in 50m and 100m, though D proudly announced, “I was last! But those other kids were FAST!”

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I just love that my overly critical little guy didn’t equate “last” with “worst”. And that he can’t wait to go back for next week’s track meet.
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