The Revermanns: Intervention

Well, we are a week into our intervention and things are finally starting to look up.

Flashback to a week ago…

I walked over to the fridge and grasped the black handle and opened the door with a slight tug. As I opened the door, I felt a slight wave of cool air rush over me. My eyes scanned the contents inside and came up empty so my eyes scanned again and once more. Still nothing. My heart beat started to race and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I was in a pure panic. Then from a distance I heard a faint sound. With every second the sound became louder and louder. It didn't take long for the sound to become clear, “Mom, I want pink milk.”

Gulp. I took a deep breath and sputtered out, “Good Morning Chase. It appears that we are out of pink milk.” I took a step back and waited for his reaction. As you can imagine, Chase thought that running out of strawberry syrup wasn't up to par and frankly, irresponsible of me. Well, of course he didn't vocalize his anger quite as eloquently as this. But vocalize it, he did.

As Chase was lying on the cold kitchen floor, weeping into his beloved purple blankie, resisting any comfort from an actual human, I figured that this was his rock bottom the perfect time to cut pink milk out of his life. Cold Turkey. (On a side note: Chase didn't think it was helpful for me to sing a song from Daniel Tiger that goes a little something like this: "When you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four. One. Two. Three. Four." Actually, this seemed to anger him more. Who would have known?)

To say the first day was pure hell is an understatement. Chase decided that if he couldn't have pink milk to drink then he wasn't going to drink at all because water was “gross” and regular old white milk was “puke.” (Although I agreed with his describing words, I couldn't give in and support his and pink milk’s co-dependent relationship any longer.) I felt his love for pink milk was blinding him to the joys of other healthy beverages and I knew I had to be strong for his sake and mine (After all it is a big annoyance to always have to have strawberry syrup on hand).

By day two, Chase did drink a sip or two of water. But not by choice; he accidentally swallowed some water in the bathtub. But hey, at least he wasn't getting dehydrated. I swear on day two, he started to get the shakes when his continual requests for pink milk were denied at breakfast. But by lunch he took a sip of “pukey” milk and didn't die. So that was a plus.

The next few days were a roller-coaster of emotions as he started to let go of his long relationship with pink milk and started to build one with white milk.

We did have a close call this weekend. Cory and I were discussing what we needed to purchase from the grocery store, when Cory asked if Chase needed more pink milk. I immediately felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead and I whispered, “No,” hoping Chase wasn't near us, as if Chase hearing Cory’s words might trigger his cravings. And honestly, I have been too strong during this process to start making Chase’s mouth salivate over pink milk, 6 days clean. (Note to self: Cory may be the biggest enabler of our son, ever!)

As for today, day 8, it’s been okay. Chase is two sippy cups deep into white milk and hasn't cried out for his once-loved pink colored comfort and it appears that he is over the shakes.

Things are looking up for us and I am hopeful they will stay up.