Sweet Potatoes

Who learns how to eat with sweet potatoes? My daughter apparently. All Iliana has ever had is bottle with bitter barium. Yumbo. Or... not so much. The OT Mo came in with a jar of baby food yesterday and I almost gasped. It confirmed that this grandma was as crazy as she looked. She looked like she should retire in Santa Fe. You know what I mean?

But, in went the sweet potatoes. She was ready to eat. Small success. Elation.

Today, as they put my tubular baby in my arms, reality set in. I watched as her feeding tube, an unpredictable red rubber tube slowly slid out of her small intestine. Process this: Iliana has a hole in her skin that goes to her small intestine. This is how she is fed. Today, gravity won, and it slowly slipped out of this hole confirming what I must not forget; in spite of her strength, she is fragile.

So, up came the blue scrubs and army of three (surgeon and nurse practitioners) and so ended the feeding session. Temporarily. After a chinesee firedrill that included an emergency trip to the underworld (radiology). Everything was in place. Excellent. Minor crisis adverted.

OT Mo came back and we attempted a bottle again. Now, I do believe that she has the best of intentions. I acknowledge that she knows more than me about feeding babies like Iliana, but she does not know Iliana. I was told that she was revered at Children's Mercy. Revered is a strong word. It belongs to classics in art, literature, and those that attempt human divinity. But, we she snatched the bottle out of my hand for the "take two of Iliana having a bottle" I am certain that I glared. If I were superhuman, my retina might have burned her hand. Iliana didn't know what to do with the bottle. She pushed it with her tongue. She rejected the feel and the foreignness of the shape. Failure. Deflation.

At the end of the day, I would rather remember the sweet potatoes of the journey. They are more hopeful, but the formula nags at my fears for Iliana's progress.