When I was a child, I blamed my parents for a lot of
things. I blamed them because they
didn’t help me achieve my dream of worldwide stardom via my undeniable and
incomparable talent in the performing arts. I also blamed them for not
promoting my supreme swimming aptitude into a gold medal winning Olympic career
I so richly deserved. I even blamed them
for cursing me with curly blond hair when I clearly would have been much better
off with straight blond hair.
In retrospect, I realize, it’s silly to blame my parents for
my lack of a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the absence of Olympic gold
medals around my neck. However, that
curly hair thing – that really is their fault!
I mean, I’ve forgiven them, even though, to this day, I still am the target
of multiple Jewfro
jokes…. Their genetics caused my lifelong hair trauma, but I’ve forgiven them –
except on humid days.
I bring this up because I officially have become a PIG. I’ve
consumed a lot of time thinking about being a PIG and beating myself up over
it. I’ve rolled my PIG status over in my
head a thousand times and I always coming out more PIGgy. PIG: Parent with Inheritance Guilt.
I’ve guilted myself over many inherited “features” (a very
clever term used by computer programmers when referring to what a commoner
might call a software “bug”) I’ve passed along to my kids…. Jack, my oldest, is
such a smart and sweet kid. And, he does
not have a competitive bone in his body.
Not one. While many will think
that’s a good thing, it can be a bit detrimental as a kid who is expected to
compete for just about everything in a school environment. This is my fault. That comes from me.
Will more than makes up for Jack’s lowered competitive
spirit . He competes for everything!
Will competes with his siblings to see who gets first rights to the
bathroom in the morning… and he always wins! However, Will is the kid that will
not try any new foods. He likes the
tried and true – chicken nuggets, pizza and spaghetti. Just like his dad was at that age. Again, my bad. It’s on me.
And Emma – my little princess – is so sensitive that one
misplaced critical comment (like “Emma, how come you didn’t finish your
breakfast?”) can send her spiraling into the safety of a hiding place. Her bedroom closet is a favorite. Mine was under my bed. Ugh.
That’s on me, too.
All of those character traits are the mountains I will have
to help my kids climb and conquer. And,
in time, I know we’ll get there. Then there is Sam, my baby. And, for him, I am the biggest PIG….
Sam is an adventurous kid, even at one year old. Unlike his older brother, he likes trying new
foods. When mommy or daddy are eating something interesting, Sam will request a
bite. And by request, I mean thrust his entire
body forward, towards the food, full force, with his mouth wide open, making a
sound that can best be described as an infantile battle cry. He is the William Wallace of
mealtimes. He makes it known he’s coming
in. Prepare yourself to donate the “baby
tax” directly into Sam’s mouth.
Yogurt Mountain
is a favorite dessert spot for my kids. Of
course it is - why wouldn’t it be? Add “do it yourself” frozen yogurt with “do
it yourself” candy toppings galore and you have grade school nirvana. The three older kids love to make their own
ice cream monstrosities, bringing unending smiles to their faces. And, of course, Sam goes in for the baby
tax. But after taking a few bites, we
noticed that Sam’s own unending smile is now surrounded by a rash of some
sort. Uh-oh.
As it turns out, Sam has food allergies. The Yogurt Mountain incident (along with a
few others like it) resulted in a trip to the doctor’s office to
investigate. A few awful blood tests
later and we have confirmation… Sam is allergic to dairy, peanuts and (gulp)
shellfish. (Why the “gulp”? Well, someone else in the family has a shellfish
allergy….me. Yep, confirmation that I’m
a PIG.)
So, my happy little Sam – the boy whose smile can light the
darkest of times, will be restricted in what he can eat for the foreseeable
future and maybe the rest of his life.
And it’s my fault. Stupid
genes.
Look, it could be worse.
It could be a lot worse. Sam
could have gone into anaphylactic shock
immediately and who knows if we could have reacted in time. His throat could have swelled up. Truthfully, we are very, very lucky. But the bottom line is Sam can’t have dairy
or peanuts or shellfish. And that’s on
me.
The reality of this hit me when Blythe came home from that
doctor’s visit with two Epipens. Epipens!
Sam needs to have access to an Epipen…just in case. Know what an Epipen is? It an emergency
does of epinephrine. Know what that is?
To quote a medical website:
“Epinephrine injection is used to treat life-threatening
allergic reactions caused by insect bites, foods, medications, latex, and other
causes. Symptoms of allergic reaction include wheezing, shortness of breath,
low blood pressure, hives, itching, swelling, stomach cramps, diarrhea, and
loss of bladder control. Epinephrine is in a class of medications called
sympathomimetic agents. It works by relaxing the muscles in the airways and
tightening the blood vessels.”
Did you see those words? Shortness of breath. Low blood pressure. Swelling. He may not have had those symptoms
yet, but they are possibilities. And it’s
my fault.
And though I accept the blame, I don’t accept victim
status. We all have choices to make. There are two sides to this coin… Shall I wallow in self-pity for my son (I
guess that’s self-pity by proxy, actually) or shall I be grateful for what we
have and control what we can? I choose
the latter.
No child could ask for a better advocate in life than Blythe. When she senses danger, her protective
instincts turn into action. Don’t mess
with mama bear’s babies. She has taken
on this food allergy condition as if she were preparing a PhD thesis. She now knows more about allergies than the
doctors we visit. If knowledge is power,
she’s the food allergy Wonder Woman. And,
so, Mother Nature, Sub-Section: Allergies, please consider yourself put on
notice. You’ve messed with my wife’s
baby. She does not forgive easily.
My role, other than supporting my wife in her crusade
against food allergies, is simple. Along
with Blythe, we’ll work on keeping Sam comfortable and safe. We’re so fortunate to live in a time when
information is readily available. The
plethora of “kid food allergies” websites alone is astounding. And the food alternative choices for Sam are
really incredible, too. This morning,
for the first time in his young life, Sam enjoyed ice cream. Well, “rice dream” ice
cream, but to him it’ll be ice cream ice cream.
He loved it. And that smile alone
makes the efforts all worthwhile.
By the way, we also bought him a few varieties of vegan
cheese. We sampled along with
Sam. Sam enjoyed his new foods. I, on the other hand, found it to taste
roughly the equivalent of soggy shoe leather.
Luckily, it wasn’t purchased for me. Or the dog. Even he hated it.
The beauty in all of this is that Sam is just a really happy
little boy. To see the joy that he brings
to so many people, his parents included, is to understand the seeds of
love. All of my kids have been different
and all spectacular (I’m not at all humble when it comes to the awesomeness of
my kids). Sam has changed the world for
the better. And food allergies aren’t
going to keep that unending smile from his face, so surely it shouldn’t keep it
from ours, either.
I look forward to the day when Sam is free to eat whatever
he wants, whenever he wants, without any repercussions. But if that day doesn’t come, then I’m just
going to look forward to any day that I get to spend with Sam.
