The poor Seven-year-old. He has been a picky eater all of his life. He comes by it honestly, I have to admit. I am somewhat of a picky eater, but as a child, my brother was the pickiest eater I’ve ever met. And, coincidentally, the Seven-year-old is basically a clone of my brother so far. I watch him play every day and everything about him takes me back to my childhood and my little brother. However, the eating problem is one similarity I could do without.
For months now, his digestive system has been… less than optimal. Let’s just say that things were not moving as they should. His favorite foods are: milk, cheese, white bread, pancakes, ice cream and candy. I have spent 7 1/4 years trying to convince him to try new foods without much success.
Sunday night, he entered my room and laid next to me on the bed, complaining once again that his belly hurt. Upon touching him, I almost scorched my hand on his 104 degree body. Knowing that he had not successfully gone to the bathroom in quite awhile, I became immediately concerned. He and I ended up spending the entire night and into Monday morning in the hospital, while doctors tried to determine if he had an intestinal blockage.
His x-rays were unbelievable. When I say this kid was full of shit, I mean he was FULL of shit. Luckily we caught it before it became an intestinal blockage or rupture. He had to have IV fluids to rehydrate his system and was then given medication once his bloodwork looked ok.
(As a side note, the fever was caused from a virus that he somehow managed to simultaneously contract. This kid.)
I share this with you only because I am totally stunned at the amount of SHIT that can be stuck inside a 49 pound child. All of Monday and Tuesday, he visited the loo EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES. For TWO. STRAIGHT. DAYS. Wednesday, he slowed down to once an hour and then finally stopped around 3pm. He is now finally back at school.
It took someone jamming needles into his arm and 2 1/2 days worth of crap to convince him to start eating better. He has finally admitted the error of his ways. Or so he says. And so help me gawd, if I have to CRAM Fiber One bars down his tiny little seven year old throat, I will.