MommyNeva

So, for you moms with low income who have financial aid, you may know what WIC is. For those of you who do not, WIC is a government approved program that provides the basic food needs for children in low income families. So, I had an appointment at the WIC office, and everything went well–And then they told me my son is overweight. (I’m going to post a picture of my son on here so you can make your own judgements.) Now, mind you, My son is only in the top maybe 80 percent on the standard chart for his height.

The reason this really ticked me off is this : My son was born via emergency C-section because I had pre-eclampsia. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a blood pressure problem that only occurs in pregnant women. The severe cases can lead to strokes, and death for both mother and baby. The only cure is for the baby to be born. My son was 6 weeks premature. Because of his prematurity, my son was born with what is known as a VSD (Ventricular Septic Heart Defect.)

Now just imagine being drugged up to something that makes you feel the worst you’ve ever felt in your life, you can’t think, you have trouble remembering anything–You are seperated from your child for over 18 hours because he’s stuck in an incubator and you can’t move because of the gash in your stomach and the IV’s stuck in your arms. (Fun huh?) And then imagine finally getting to go see him, only you can’t hold him because he’s too fragile and there are too many wires around him. When they finally let you pick him up, his oxygen machine starts beeping like crazy and you’re wondering if you’ve just harmed your 5lb 1oz infant, terrified because this is the first time you’ve ever held something so small.

 The tubes come out, he’s starting to eat on his own but the pediatric doctor says he needs to speak to you. They’ve done an ultrasound and he has bad news. He’s bringing in a specialist to see just how serious it is. Open heart surgery might be needed. He’s only 4 days old…

You put on a strong face, your little one is holding your finger in his little tiny hand, he’s looking at you like you’re familiar and you smile and coo to tell him it’s okay. Meanwhile the doctor is showing you pictures of the heart defects. He’s telling you that one is normal, it will close on its own, but the other one… the other one is big. If he doesn’t gain weight, Open heart surgery is the only way to save his life… He gives you a pamphlet with definitions and directions, he tells you to read it 10 times, to know all the words, to treat it like your bible.

He pats your hand and tells you not to blame yourself. It’s not your fault! The tears stream down your face and you smile at him and tell him that you know. Your little one is sleeping now, and you hope to God, you pray to him that he will make it all okay. You have been through so much already. You take the pamphlet and it’s time to go home. Only…

You’re going home alone.

There will be no little cries in your house as you stumble around trying to clear the fogginess of the drugs they’ve given you to stave off the pain. There will be no party, no happy faces to come and greet the little one. There’s just you… too sad to cry.

He comes home 4 days later, and you’re over joyed. You have read the book! You know what to do! Every two hours you feed him, you have NO HELP, it’s just you. You feed him and then you write down the Milli-liters in your little book. The goal is 45 ML. He has to drink that much or they’ll take him back, so you sit for a half hour out of the two hour window and beg his little body to take in the nourishment that is the difference between breaking his too tiny ribs, or waiting until he’s bigger, until it’s a little less risky….

 And now you’re at the WIC office, and they’re telling you he’s fat. He just had his one year checkup, and though the hole is still big, it’s stabilized. THey don’t know if or when it will change in the future. He may still need Open Heart Surgery. It’s a foreboding glimpse into your future…But the lady is standing there telling you he’s overweight, even though you’ve told her his condition, you’ve told her what the opposite means. What happens when he doesn’t continue to gain a little weight.

 Now that you’ve taken my journey, maybe you can understand my anger. My son is far from overweight. He does not have a double chin, He does not struggle to move. — And then you get a letter in the mail saying that your family has been referred to a dietician. They urge you to take advantage of this.

If your son is not fat… why are you getting this letter in the mail???

Because YOU are fat.

…….I have nothing else to write. I’m upset, and maybe my anger is misplaced, but… I don’t need other people to tell me that I’m fat. I tell myself that every day.