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The Hunger

It happened again.

H had another "episode."

This one was the worst ever. It dragged on for almost an hour.

Despite the food alarm set for every two hours on my phone, and all my hovering, I let my guard down. I let him go too long without food.

Grand Master H is usually a pretty sweet little boy, okay, he is the size of a high school freshman, but he is overall, a nice kid.

Unless he doesn't eat every two hours, like clockwork. He must be fed. Skipping a single feeding has dire consequences.

At Mr. Smith's insistence, I went to Burke Williams Spa and had a massage. 80 minutes, Pure Relaxation with Hot Stones...expensive, yes. Wonderful doesn't cover it. Go become a subscriber to their website and you will get enticing coupons in your email in-box. The kind of spam that makes you want to make a reservation, abandon your family, turn off your phone, take your passport, and flee.

Then, after you have taken a few extra minutes in the quiet room (yes, they have one, there is no talking, which means there is no one in there saying "Mommy" every few seconds, in fact no one says ANYTHING!), you remember your name and that you have obligations, and people and things and places.

But I digress.

So, after my partial afternoon of bliss, that included me turning off the 4 and 6 pm alarms for H's feedings, I returned to my life (did you catch that little bit of dark foreshadowing?).

Before I opened the door, I could hear crying and screaming. It was Famous Baby C. She was engaging in her ongoing war of terror against her poor father. Nothing new there.

Not long after I intervened and calmed her cranky butt down, H started.

We limped through dinner and started bath time. That was when all hell broke loose. H wanted my undivided attention and he was willing to do just about anything to get it.

The most unfortunate thing in this whole story is that my mother mentioned that he may need to eat again, but I dismissed it. I thought he had eaten enough that afternoon to tide him over. He wasn't asking for food, so I figured he was okay. I also may have been in some post-massage with hot stones fugue that kept me from seeing the brick wall of misery I was heading straight into.

Through Baby C's bath, he was throwing himself on the floor, wailing, crying and swinging at me. Nothing I did helped calm him. No solution I offered was accepted, so I told him there was nothing more I could do for him.

He followed Baby C and I upstairs while I was trying to get her ready for bed and read (quietly, ha!) to her. He refused to leave her room, refused to stop screaming, swinging at me, throwing himself on the floor, kicking me and his sister. I finally dragged him outside the room, and went in with C and closed the door. He stayed outside screaming and kicking the door.

Mr. Smith came upstairs at this point and tried (without injuring anyone, don't ask me how) to carry the thrashing maniac down the stairs. We made it to the bathroom where I attempted to get H to get into the tub.

Imagine The Miracle Worker to start things off and really get the misery rolling.

with a little Silkwood action thrown in for good measure.

rolled into the most insane dinner/bath-against-your-will situation.

Flailing limbs, locked knees, slapping, me getting a glass shower door slammed into my ribs (so much for my massage!), punching, cursing, screaming insults, spitting, etc.

Finally, I got him out of the tub. He was naked, wet and furious. He wants me to let him go, but I have to wrestle with him for another 20 minutes to get his pajamas on and get him to settle down enough to eat something.

He spit PEZ (whole and chewed up, with and without PEZ-saliva syrup) at me and all over the kitchen before he got enough sugar in his bloodstream to take the edge off his irrational rage.

After all of this, I finally start to see the glimmer of recognition in his eyes again. It took a long time, longer than usual, to get him back this time.

By the time he came back to earth, he had forgotten that he had already had a bath. He did apologize for being "mean at you."

I was exhausted, we were all exhausted.

We all fell into bed and slept horribly. Luckily we got to start the day by about 4 am, so it isn't like we got a decent night's sleep or anything.

It happened again last night, but not nearly as extreme. I caught it earlier this time, before things spun completely out of control.

I can't keep ahead of his caloric needs and I don't know what I am going to do about it.

I am failing him, on a daily basis, as his mother.

We have had him tested for diabetes, hypoglycemia, etc. All the tests were normal. I am left wondering what the hell to do with this little boy and crying far too much.

Sorry to be such a downer. Kind of having writer's block, PMS and struggling right now, on all fronts.

Back soon with recipes.

On a more humorous note...

Juice for thought