Sweet freedom!

It seems that my sons never make it to the "holding their own bottle" stage. That's because I shove the double handed sippy cup at them first, knowing full well that it will take less time and dexterity for them to master the latter. As Peter passed his ninth month, I celebrated some savings. The 9-24 month formula is a whole $2 less than the newborn kind. That's right. Instead of being $23.99 for a tiny little jug of the powder, it is only $21.99! This week, I also broke out the Cheerios, considering that a box of the generic Shop Rite brand is $3, the average cost of a small cylinder of Gerber "puffies," which, of course, Owen and Nicholas feast on more frequently than Peter does. Typical!

So this week, after Nicholas got sick to his stomach for the third time in a month, I took him to see a pediatric allergist. I was convinced that he must have food allergies, since neither one of his brothers got sick after he did, and with viruses, we know that misery loves company. I didn't want any more guess work, even though the gluten-limited diet was working pretty nicely. I just wanted to know for certain what was going on. Since taking your two year-old to a doctor's office is kind of like giving a cat a pill, I decided to eliminate all other distractions and bring him sans siblings during my lunch period. Last week was exams, and we actually get a full hour for lunch, which feels like an eternity once all students have left the building. I haven't taken an hour to eat a meal since I was about 12 or 13, and after administering two exams back to back, I was pretty much fried, so I grabbed a banana for the road, picked up Nicholas from preschool and took him right around the corner to the allergist. Who told me he was allergic to nothing.

While I am very happy to know that my son can eat as many peanuts, tree nuts, and eggs as he would like, and that dairy, soy and wheat are not allergens, I am not convinced. Here's what my mother's intuition (and months full of some nasty diaper changes) is informing me. The kid can't have white flour or excess sugar. His body can't process it. As I stood holding Nicholas (who downed fistfuls of gluten free animal crackers as the doctor tried to avert her eyes), I asked the doctor about intolerances. She told me to trust my instincts. At this point, I would rather do that than subject my two year-old (and, who are we kidding, myself) to a pediatric gastroenterologist.

By the way, I was really worried about how Nicholas would react to being brought back to preschool after I took him out. When we returned to his classroom, his teacher had a lunch plate waiting for him as the other little ones napped on their cots. He sat down to his barbecue beef sandwich and waved me goodbye without even looking up. Owen, who has been a bit of a challenge at drop-off time in the mornings, actually did the same thing last week. I sat down with him and sipped my coffee as he started eating his breakfast, then one of his classmates started talking to him and he poked me, saying "It's time for you to leave." Parting is such sweet sorrow!