Los Peterson

Before you accuse me of being an overactive psychotherapist who's getting DSM-IV happy, let me first clarify: Gunnar needs Feeding therapy.

Yeah, FEEDING therapy. Who even knew that there was such a thing?! I didn't. Not until today when we went to our Pediatrician because I was concerned about his weight and she, after examining him told me that, "Gunnar needs Feeding Therapy," did I even know that it existed.


Here's a shot of Gunnar looking blissfully happy on the doctor's scale. (Sorry so blurry!)

I think she's right though. Gunnar needs help. He doesn't eat. And when and what he does eat isn't much. I've been keeping a food journal for him over the past week and it's pretty pathetic: a few ounces of milk here. A bite of yogurt there. Three Cheeri-o's. . .



And then there's the puking, most likely caused by a case of infant acid reflux. Chris and I knew there were problems when I took his bottle out of the fridge yesterday and the mere sight of it made him gag. It's alarming to behold. He vomits just about every day - sometimes multiple times a day. If he were 14 and a girl (or a just high school wrestler) I'd think he was bulimic. And, he's ALWAYS asking me if his onesies make him look fat. I kid, but only to mask my extreme anxiety. I'm really worried about the little guy. He's almost 1 year old and he looks like he's 9 months. It scares me. . .



I guess Gunnar is just a lot like his dad. Chris has really bad acid reflux. So does Gunnar. Chris hates eating and has often stated that he'd rather have an IV than have to worry about a meal. Gunnar may have to resort to something like that :( Chris feels that sleep is a complete waste of time. From Gunnar's behavior over the past 11 months, it seems that he's in agreement with that one too.



Not me though. Eating and sleeping are on my list of top five all time favorite things to do. Maybe even my top two.

I know Gunnar will be okay though. The doctor said he'll be okay. Chris says he'll be okay and that I shouldn't worry so much. But I do. I always do. I'm amazed at how much and how often I worry about this boy.



A couple weeks ago I had a dream that Gunnar was falling onto some jagged rocks and that he was going to die. The nightmare was so vivid that I actually stood up and dove off of our bed onto the floor with my arms stretched out like I was catching a hail Mary pass in a football game. You should have seen the bruises on my knees, and the look on Chris' face. I scared the crap out of him.

Who knew that being a parent would also mean becoming slightly obsessive, germ-phobic, anxious, paranoid, etc., etc. Yikes.

Speaking of needing therapy . . .