A stomach post.

We've been cooking these past few days.
Little mini loaves of bread
which rose beautifully
and were only slightly overbaked. Little Fish can't eat those.
Seedless blackberry jam. Little Fish can eat this, but not in the quantities she'd like.

And then Little Fish decided that we needed to make a cake for Grannie and Grandad .
She wanted to make a "Nanny and Daddy Cake" but refused to explain what that might be. Oh, except to state that it should be blue. Since Little Fish isn't really terribly clued up on her colours, we compromised by using a blue plate. And made a cappuccino cake. Would a cake by any other name taste as sweet?

Having successfully avoided the truly tedious freezer restock and Autumn cleaning procrastinated for a couple of days, we finally got around to cooking up some pots of glop for the girls.
Cauliflour and broccoli cheese here, tasty. And below, roast chicken.
I'm not convinced totally pureed is the way to go, but I think I prefer the second option. I'll take the bread sauce anyway. Little Fish's therapists want her to have her meals pureed in their component parts in order to give her different tastes at each meal. This is great - it gives her the opportunity every toddler has to sift out the greens and spit them on the floor and refuse them. Would someone like to tell me how that's a good thing?

That's for the inside. Here's the outside. Two gastrostomies.
At the top, Mog's beautifully presented Mini Button. It lies flat against her stomach, it doesn't tug, it stays connected, the valve is handily broken ensuring that as soon as we pop the lid off she winds herself nicely with no need for syringes. It's a definite bonus; the buttons should be built that way.

At the bottom, Little Fish's ever manky Mic-Key Button. Now I am no expert in buttons, especially Mic-Keys, but surely it must be too long? It shouldn't have that much leeway - once you attach an extension tube it sits a good centimetre or more away from her skin. I'm thinking that in itself may be contributing to the soreness. There's overgranulation. There's scabby gooey bits which soak off nicely at night and are back again, with friends, in the morning. There's such soreness in it that she sobs as soon as she sees the syringe, and if she isn't slapping my face she's pulling out her own hair. This can't be right. And yet, this photo, that's the best we've seen her stoma since she had the original op in January.

Tia