The battle of the bulge

My son is fat.  Not pinch-your-cheeks, aren’t you cute! chubby.  Not even he’ll-grow-out-of-it extra weight.

It’s more like target-of-Michelle-Obama’s obesity campaign fat.  He looks nine months pregnant.

It’s not his fault.  I mean, increase in appetite and weight gain are typical side effects of both the anti-psychotic and the mood stabilizer that we’ve given him. (You should read the other possible side effects, but that’s for another post.) He’s gained twenty pounds since he got out of the hospital on December 17^th, and even though we’ve reduced the dose of the medication and are trying to get him on the treadmill everyday, the scale just doesn’t budge.

But still….  I hate myself for this, but I can’t stand that my son is fat. 

Every time I look at his chubby (albeit still beautiful) face, I flinch.  Inwardly, of course, he doesn’t see it, but still.  Every time I go to give him a hug, I have to reach my arms around that big belly and I feel a twinge of sadness. The love handles, you have no idea.


I know, I’m a horrible person, horrible, horrible. I'm sorry.  

He’s at risk for diabetes.  He huffs and puffs when he climbs the stairs.  I had to buy a Husky bathing suit. He has trouble putting his socks on by himself! I’m sure other parents think I’m force-feeding him pizza three times a day. It’s simply awful.

But, of course, I can’t stand that he has tantrums, is aggressive and self injurious if he’s not on the medication.  So you can see that I’m in a bit of a quandary here.

I obsess over each piece of food he puts in his mouth.  I count the number of potatoes, bagels, noodles, and chips. All he eats are carbs, carbs and more carbs. I try to make him run up the stairs.  Not in a Mommy Dearest sort of a way, but in a “last one up is a rotten egg” sort of way.  (He doesn’t care if he’s a rotten egg.  He walks.)  My husband takes him on marathon walks with the dog and I keep putting him on the treadmill for longer and longer sessions.

You don’t understand, this kid was so skinny; I used to beg him to eat. Now I can’t get him to stop.

I simply can’t wait until summer, when he can swim in the pool all day (will he even want to?  Be ABLE to?), hike the trails, play tennis, run around, and get all the physical exercise he can stand. And maybe get off at least one of these medications.

Now if I could only get him to eat cabbage soup…I’ve heard great things about the cabbage soup diet.