Having a child on a feeding tube is an emotionally difficult thing at times. No matter how hard I try, I’m frequently plagued by mom guilt about my child being unable to eat enough to keep himself alive. All of the feelings tangled up around our son’s feeding difficulties came out into the open today. There was no gentleness about it, the scab was ripped clear off the wound without mercy. There was a ton of notice it was coming, leaving the discomfort to steadily build alongside the anticipation.

We had stopped increasing our son’s formula intake in order to encourage him to eat. The hope was he would begin to associate hunger with eating and steadily add additional calories to his diet on his own. It didn’t happen that way, and his recent diagnosis provided a clear explanation of why it didn’t work. Knowing about his genetic condition and seeing his weight gain plateau, we are immediately implementing a calorie increase. I still feel like a failure, even with all of the medical information supporting that letting go now and picking up the battle another time is the exact right thing to do.

We’re going backward in order to move forward. My brain knows this, but my heart is still bleeding.