it all circles back, you'll see

The bird made it through the night on only one feeding, of which I was completely unaware, thanks to Stupid Daddy and my special vitamin, Ambien. And this morning he was chipper as ever, craning his bony little neck for the next bite of mush. Stupid Daddy brought him over to the Nature Center first thing while I extended my drug-induced haze with a couple of Percocets took the kids to school. The good people over there identified him as a starling and were happy to, er, take him under their wing. Adios, little guy! I'm sorry you're going to grow up to be so ugly and obnoxious!

In other news, Ezra has been diagnosed with hypothyroidism. He's been very low on the growth chart for the last few years, but maintaining his velocity, which generally means there's no cause for concern. At his last checkup, however, he had dropped into a much lower percentile, so we took him to a pediatric endocrinologist, and this is what the labs picked up.

Aside from his small size, Ezra looks like a generally healthy kid with shining eyes, a quick mind, and tons of energy. He has none of the other symptoms of the disease, save one: horrible mood swings. I wonder now if his shouting, his tirades, his minimal tolerance for frustration, his generally being a total asshole for the last six months or so are all a function of the lazy thyroid. And of course I'm kicking myself for having so little sympathy and giving him such a hard time and not seeing that there might be something wrong sooner.

Hypothyroidism isn't necessarily the cause of his small stature. He may indeed have a growth hormone deficiency, but that can't be tested (i.e., insurance won't pay for testing) until his thyroid function is stabilized. Stupid Daddy is encouraging me not to worry about what might or might not have to happen six months from now, but I can't help feeling like all this is just the beginning of one long nightmare of repeated doctor's visits and labs and "stim tests" that would involve him fasting for six hours and then running like nuts for twenty minutes and then drinking nasty medicine and then running some more and then having his blood drawn for the sixtieth time in two hours and then reciting the alphabet in French while standing on his head or some shit like that, and then, and then, possibly getting an injection in his tiny little ass every day for the next decade.

So I'm trying really hard to focus on the more immediate challenges, mainly, getting my five-year-old to learn to swallow his special vitamin (the Synthroid pill) and see this addition to his morning routine as a) absolutely no big deal, or b) one big pharmaceutical adventure.