My elder son is pushing back, as they called it in feeding therapy. He's not having any of the mashed potatoes. Nope, nada - not one bite. Otherwise, he's doing well with adjusting to the feeding at home. He's had a rough day with behavioral problems. He's testing my limits. I won't allow for him to succumb to the behavioral adaptations that he previously had. We've committed to a new protocol for feeding, and we're going to see this through. I know that we've made the right decision to help both boys reduce their dependence on tube feedings.
Emotionally, I've looked to the vines here at the Vineyard for solace. They are dormant. Not one bud of a leaf on either of them. I can wait. They will bud. Then, following the leaves comes the grapes. The children will grow just as the vines will grow. My vineyard may not look like another woman's. However, it's mine. I don't have to have a thousand hectares of merlot vines. They wouldn't suit me anyway. I'm better suited to my two scraggly mystery vines.