Food for Thought (So Don't Even Try to Put It Anywhere Near His Mouth)
Long-time readers of this blog will remember that my son has eating issues. As in, he doesn't. Oh, okay. That's not true. He's a little carboholic but his lips have never been sullied by an actual, real, whole vegetable. Never. Ever. He tolerated the stage one purees as a baby, but never progressed to stage two.
I have a great picture of him on his one-year birthday, absolutely furious at me for deigning to put a cupcake on his face. He wasn't happy until the Goldfish came out. The teachers of the toddler room insisted that they'd never had a child who they couldn't get to eat. Doodles made them cry uncle. It was the Tiny Tot teacher who finally said, "This isn't normal," which was completely validating. In entered Early Intervention. Doodles had an occupational therapist come to the house every week to work on sensory issues. In the beginning, the boy wouldn't go near Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of bread. He also entered a short-term feeding group, where many kids came together and wouldn't play with Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of just about every food imaginable. However, diligence won out and by the time he aged out of feeding therapy, he had added a wealth of new items to his list of foods he'd eat: bread, cake & cookies (oh joy), waffles, pancakes, French toast, and French fries (I know that doesn't seem like an achievement, but it meant we could go out for a meal without packing up a zillion bags of cereal, Goldfish, and Veggie Booty). Shortly after he added pizza. A real food! (Okay, so not the realest of foods, but let me have my short-lived joy.)
He was making enough progress that we decided not to pursue other feeding resources when he was no longer eligible for Early Intervention. Fast forward to his four-year doctor's appointment. Still not eating any vegetables. Still not eating any fruit. Still not eating any meat. I could go on, but the list gets boring. The doctor decided it was time, to once again, call in reinforcements.
Today Doodles started a new feeding group. It's pretty cool, and he seemed to enjoy it. We'll see how much he likes it once the novelty has worn off. It's once a week for two hours (right smack in the middle of Pie's nap time, but we'll just have to deal with that), and I get to sit in a room with a one-way mirror and observe him (I wasn't comfortable with the one-way mirror thing so I made sure to show him the room and let him know that I'd be sitting there watching him. I think it reassured him).
Five kids are paired with five graduate students and they're supervised by a specialist (I think she's the only one in the area; it's amazing we got in to this group, which just happened to graduate a couple of kids right before we called. The requirements for the group are pretty strict--such as no allergies--so we were very lucky). Everyone plays at first. Then it's circle time where they read a book that has food in it in some prominent way. Today they read Chicks and Salsa. Then, the group cooks. In keeping with the theme of the book, the kids made chicken fajitas. Doodles and his grad student cut green peppers together and chopped up cucumbers for the salsa. They had a hot plate out and the kids got to put things in the pan as they grilled them up.
While things were cooking, the kids played and they rearranged the room, creating individual tables for each child and grad student. They then came back for "mouth time." In mouth time, parents provide a food they're working on and the grad students work with the kids one on one to help them. Doodles was working on apples. They cut him slices and took off the skin (the way we've had a smidgen of success before). He did a lot of gagging but they provided him with a bowl to spit into and he was told he could spit out food at any time (and he was excited tonight to learn the word "spittoon"). They worked with all the kids to lick food, hold it in their mouths, chew it and spit it out and whatever they needed. By the end of the session, he had bitten off a few bites of apples, chewed it, and "sent it to his tummy." Doodles liked that so much he sent a few bites to his toes and his forehead and other various body parts.
At the end of mouth time, the chicken fajitas came out. Doodles got to roll his own. At first, he tricked them into thinking he was actually eating it, but to one in the know such as myself, it was obvious he was merely eating the tortilla and avoiding the insides. They caught on quickly enough. They had him lick a number of new foods. He even ingested the tiniest smidgen of shredded cheese!
Of course, we have homework to do with him: He has to have three bites of apple make it to his tummy every day (although he's welcome to spit out whenever he needs to). We'll see how it goes. And Pie wasn't thrilled with being confined to the observation room for two hours when there was real food out there (everyone who passed through and saw Pie noshing on her carrots, peppers, and sugar snap peas was wowed with her eating; it's not hard to excel in that group!).
And me? I'm signing off to go have a big plate of sushi. Mmmm sushi. And I promised I won't spit any of it out.
I have a great picture of him on his one-year birthday, absolutely furious at me for deigning to put a cupcake on his face. He wasn't happy until the Goldfish came out. The teachers of the toddler room insisted that they'd never had a child who they couldn't get to eat. Doodles made them cry uncle. It was the Tiny Tot teacher who finally said, "This isn't normal," which was completely validating. In entered Early Intervention. Doodles had an occupational therapist come to the house every week to work on sensory issues. In the beginning, the boy wouldn't go near Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of bread. He also entered a short-term feeding group, where many kids came together and wouldn't play with Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of just about every food imaginable. However, diligence won out and by the time he aged out of feeding therapy, he had added a wealth of new items to his list of foods he'd eat: bread, cake & cookies (oh joy), waffles, pancakes, French toast, and French fries (I know that doesn't seem like an achievement, but it meant we could go out for a meal without packing up a zillion bags of cereal, Goldfish, and Veggie Booty). Shortly after he added pizza. A real food! (Okay, so not the realest of foods, but let me have my short-lived joy.)
He was making enough progress that we decided not to pursue other feeding resources when he was no longer eligible for Early Intervention. Fast forward to his four-year doctor's appointment. Still not eating any vegetables. Still not eating any fruit. Still not eating any meat. I could go on, but the list gets boring. The doctor decided it was time, to once again, call in reinforcements.
Today Doodles started a new feeding group. It's pretty cool, and he seemed to enjoy it. We'll see how much he likes it once the novelty has worn off. It's once a week for two hours (right smack in the middle of Pie's nap time, but we'll just have to deal with that), and I get to sit in a room with a one-way mirror and observe him (I wasn't comfortable with the one-way mirror thing so I made sure to show him the room and let him know that I'd be sitting there watching him. I think it reassured him).
Five kids are paired with five graduate students and they're supervised by a specialist (I think she's the only one in the area; it's amazing we got in to this group, which just happened to graduate a couple of kids right before we called. The requirements for the group are pretty strict--such as no allergies--so we were very lucky). Everyone plays at first. Then it's circle time where they read a book that has food in it in some prominent way. Today they read Chicks and Salsa. Then, the group cooks. In keeping with the theme of the book, the kids made chicken fajitas. Doodles and his grad student cut green peppers together and chopped up cucumbers for the salsa. They had a hot plate out and the kids got to put things in the pan as they grilled them up.
While things were cooking, the kids played and they rearranged the room, creating individual tables for each child and grad student. They then came back for "mouth time." In mouth time, parents provide a food they're working on and the grad students work with the kids one on one to help them. Doodles was working on apples. They cut him slices and took off the skin (the way we've had a smidgen of success before). He did a lot of gagging but they provided him with a bowl to spit into and he was told he could spit out food at any time (and he was excited tonight to learn the word "spittoon"). They worked with all the kids to lick food, hold it in their mouths, chew it and spit it out and whatever they needed. By the end of the session, he had bitten off a few bites of apples, chewed it, and "sent it to his tummy." Doodles liked that so much he sent a few bites to his toes and his forehead and other various body parts.
At the end of mouth time, the chicken fajitas came out. Doodles got to roll his own. At first, he tricked them into thinking he was actually eating it, but to one in the know such as myself, it was obvious he was merely eating the tortilla and avoiding the insides. They caught on quickly enough. They had him lick a number of new foods. He even ingested the tiniest smidgen of shredded cheese!
Of course, we have homework to do with him: He has to have three bites of apple make it to his tummy every day (although he's welcome to spit out whenever he needs to). We'll see how it goes. And Pie wasn't thrilled with being confined to the observation room for two hours when there was real food out there (everyone who passed through and saw Pie noshing on her carrots, peppers, and sugar snap peas was wowed with her eating; it's not hard to excel in that group!).
And me? I'm signing off to go have a big plate of sushi. Mmmm sushi. And I promised I won't spit any of it out.
4 Comments:
I sympathezie with the no veggie/fruit eater. We're dealing with something similar, although after reading what you have to go through, I won't complain about my fussy eater.
Good luck with it and keep us posted. I'd like to know how it goes should we end up following in your path.
I know it's not funny, not really, it must make your life very hard most of the time but it is funny to read, so I reckon you're to blame really.
It seems to be going really well though. I've been thinking about sensory issues and would like to ask you something which I hope will not sound offensive because it certainly isn't meant to be - do you think anything about it may be culturally-induced? It's like the stomach flu, we never get that here in Portugal, ever, it seems we don't have the right rotaviruses.I don't know a whole lot of children, granted, but I've never heard of one having this sort of sensory issues here, and I've never heard anything about it in the news either. So either we're underdiagnosed or not as afflicted, which begged my question. The bio-anthropologist in me is curious, I encounter it a lot in many blogs - and it was all prompted by the fact that whenever I give Anglo friends some of our food, e.g. liver or gizzards or fish eggs, when they dislike it they invariably talk about its texture. Now, any Portie will tell you they dislike something bcs they don't care for its taste - but texture is really never mentioned, which is what made me wonder if you were, as Anglos in general, a bit culturally wired to be more texture-sensitive.
Didn't mean to ramble (or, again, to offend), am just really interested in this.
It's an excellent point (and I'm absolutely not offended). Perhaps it is cultural in the sense that as a pampered nation, when our child doesn't eat, we simply accommodate him. I wonder if we lived in a less affluent society if our children would simply adapt. For instance, when as a 10-month-old, Doodles refused to eat cheese, avocados, tofu, etc., I pretty much shrugged my shoulders and handed him Cheerios. If we were in a place where there were no Cheerios, would he have starved himself or discovered a way to eat other foods? I'm guessing the latter as I've been told that no child with a healthy neurological system will allow him or herself to starve.
That said, I do wonder if there are extremely picky eaters in other countries who do have sensory issues, but because they aren't recognized as such, are simply labeled "picky eaters." When I was on the kibbutz with folks from around the world, people had all sorts of eating quirks. I know plenty of adults (from a variety of nations) who "never touch a vegetable!" They're simply picky. But perhaps if someone had helped them earlier on, they'd love vegetables and be a healthier adult. Who knows? Now I'm rambling!
I wish I knew more parents abroad to find out if this is only an American experience. If any are out there, chime in!
For what it's worth, I can't stand tofu. And it's totally a texture thing! Mushy yuckiness. :-)
I'm not sure that explains all of it bcs I know a lot of parents who are rather relaxed in terms of what their child will eat - some battles simply aren't worth it and toddlers et al in our Western world will go through phases. And again, you don't hear people here complaining about texture a lot, it's mostly taste.
Have you ever seen any of the BBC hosted by Prof. Wilson? There's one called Child of Our Time, they follow children from in utero till they're 20, I think they're abt 4 or 5 now. Anyway, they prove dthat yes, somne people are more sensitive taste-wise and that it can be inherited - but that still doesn't explain this Anglo texture trend. I remember not being overly fond of veggies or soup (love them now) but it was never abt how they felt in my mouth, it was bcs they tasted vile. And I agree, for the vast majority it is cultural in the broadest sense bcs I can't imagine a child in Sudan being picky, they should be so lucky as to be able to pick. But in the most restricted sense I'm still perplexed.
I'll ask my Israeli friends if the texture thingy ever comes up bcs whn I lived on the kibbutz and later in Israel at large I realised Israeli children are by far the most spoilt things ever. It would b fun if, with their table manners, they all turned out to be picky as well. ;) I'm fascinated by this!
PS - What's with cubed salad for breakfast?? Remember that?
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