The days are starting to all blend into one. Like clockwork, we leave the house at 10am for the usually 45 minute commute to Children’s. The weekend proved to be kind though with a quick drive and not much traffic. When I speak of what “the girls” did for the day, I of course only know what’s on the schedule and/or what my daughter tells me. The report was good from her.
The girls watch some movies over the weekend and had time to talk and relax, while still sticking to the scheduled meal and snack times and some therapy groups. Her favorite appeared to be the anger bombs, aka water balloons, that they threw at the side of the building while yelling the very thing that made them most angry. She also enjoys the walks they take every morning.
My two older girls and I ventured back up to have dinner with her and bring her home. We leave both days at 4pm, and are treated to a down pouring of rain during the drive. At dinner, it’s interesting to hear my girls talk. One daughter is going on and on about how fat her thighs look when she sits down and I try to tell her that it’s because her muscles are relaxed and try to give her visual clues to stop talking about it. The nurses mingle and make sure the mealtime is going well and I picture us getting written up for bad behavior. (joking. They don’t do that) Then she decides they’re man legs. I blame this talk on a society that glorifies a 6ft size 0 Barbie.
As mealtime closes, she has almost finished her meal but can’t quite finish the carrots and fries. In an attempt to help, her sister mentions that she’ll help her eat them or hide them for her. Again we’re talking about things that are going to get us put on America’s Most Wanted Food Criminals. And I laugh to myself as I explain to my three teenage girls that we can’t hide the food or help her eat it. I instead invite the food cop (nutrition counselor) over to talk with Natasha. She is cleared of eating the rest because she left so little and ate her whole burger.