Which is no big surprise, because it happens like pretty much always.
But still.
This time it actually means something.
See…
Do you know what this means?
It means that my baby is allergic to peanuts (WHY!? crying hysterically, beating fist on desk, WHHHHYYY?!).
And, as I sat in Dr. Allergies’ office yesterday waiting for the bell to ring while #3 performed contortion trying to claw at his skin (which is not supposed to hurt, btw, but kind does when you are only 1. At least that’s what it looked like and sounded like to me as #3 yelled, “Mommy, it hurt. It hurt! Wub my back! Pease, Mommy. Wub it! For fifteen minutes straight.) I was torn about how I wanted the test to come out.
Naturally, I hoped that after 13 months (this all started back here, when he had his 17 days of diarrhea episode) of investigative work that would make professional CSIers proud, 10 months of begging for allergy tests (took me at least 3 to come to the conclusion that it was probably an allergy and not one of the other 55 things Dr. Goggle suggested it could be), and 2 breakouts of full blown, body covering hives, I would be wrong, and that he wasn’t going to be the Peanut Allergy Kid for the rest of his life.
Because, no one wants to be that kid.
The one for whom they instituted the No Birthday Parties at school rule (can’t take cupcakes or anything anymore).
The one who doesn’t get to eat any of his Halloween Candy or the Christmas cookies or pretty much anything until it’s been thoroughly inspected.
The one whose Mommy has to go into the class and “talk” to the teacher, or into his buddy’s house and “talk” to his Mommy so that there aren’t any <strike>potentially fatal</strike>mix-ups.
The one with the big needle (even if it does just look like a super cool ink pen) in his backpack.
I didn’t want any of that for him.
But, if I’m honest (and I always am, except for when it comes to talking about what I ate for snack today, and then I’m strictly a don’t ask, don’t tell kinda chick) there was a small part of me that just wanted the test to be positive.
Because I really just wanted to be right. But not for the reasons I normally want to be right.
For other reasons.
Like, that I am tired of keeping food journals about every little morsel he makes contact with. Adding, subtracting, substituting, finding the square root of pretty much everything he eats was getting tiresome.
And, I was anxious to find a solution. I could see that something was obviously wrong. Last week nearly every inch of skin on the poor kid was covered with some sort of red, itchy, puss filled? puffiness, including the inside of his mouth. And, the horror that was being deposited into his diaper by some evil creature of death was nearly unbearable. For both of us. There was just absolutely no way that there was nothing wrong. Healthy humans do smell (or look) the way he did. So, instead of continuing on the vision quest for truth that has been consuming us for the past 13 months, I was hopeful that we had finally located the key that could lock all this ugly away for a bit.
And then , there’s my fragile momtuition to consider. For it’s sake, I really needed to be right on this one. After all of my hard work, my battles with the oh-I’m-sure-it’s-nothing-let’s-just-see-medical-degree-holding naysayers, I really just wanted to be able to say: IN YO FACE DOC! I needed to be able to trust that at least I know my baby. I may not know much about crafting, or stain removing, or toilet cleaning, or even how to not yell at them when they punch each other in the face. But, I know my babies. And, I knew something wasn’t right.
The pleasure I feel now for not giving up (as they basically suggested), for knowing in my heart that something was amiss, and for fighting with them to get him evaluated is almost enough to cancel out the sadness I feel for the fact that he will never again savor the deliciousness of a peanut M&M.
Almost.
Mommy’s sorry sweetness:(
Feel free to leave your tips/suggestions if you are a similarly affected family. I really just don’t know what kids eat for lunch if it’s not PB&J sandwiches, which, for the record, he literally asks me for at least 3 times per week.
*Go enter the Cheerios and Books Contest that ends tomorrow!
*And, don't forget to send over those effed up Christmas shots. You know you wanna win $200 smackers worth of stuff!
