I am not worrying. Nope. Not me.
I mean, I’m sure it’s PERFECTLY FINE that my son has had his new appliances in for three days and is still basically refusing to eat or drink. The fact that I’ve spent the last three days in the kitchen making smoothies, special yogurts, the smoothest mashed potatoes known to man, and turning cornbread into a beverage only to watch two sips/bites turn into an hour-long odyssey of fury and exhaustion—after which the food I spent so long preparing ends up in the trash—is no big deal. And even though the child doesn’t have a spare ounce of body fat on him, I’m confident he can’t ACTUALLY waste away to nothing, because that never really happens.
He has to eat eventually. Right? Right. Not worried. Nope.
And the fact that cramming all of that metal into the mouth of a kid with sensory issues basically causes him to revert to being a tantrum-throwing, bewildered three-year-old is not making me feel guilty at all, because you know, his jaw is screwed up and must be fixed and how was I supposed to know that this stuff was going to make his brain short-circuit this way? This too shall pass.
This too MUST pass, or someone is going to end up in the hospital, and at this point the odds on whether it’s him or me are running pretty even.
But I’m not worrying. Because it’s only been three days and he’s going to be FINE. Plus he’ll have a BRILLIANT SMILE, you know, once he actually feels like smiling again. Which will be SOON. Because I’m not worried.
So instead of worrying I am going to spend my day today stalking the DHL guy.