After receiving a pirate hat and two strands of beads at Margot’s third birthday party, Whit didn’t take them off all weekend. He SLEPT in his pirate hat. I went in to tuck him in, having put him to bed decidedly hat-free, and he was splayed on his back with the thing firmly on his head. Hilarious. With his standard sartorial elan, he added a bandana tied around his neck “like a cape” and a red fleece vest that had been his as a baby this morning. The fleece vest, size 12 months, was snug. He really made a statement at the playground.
As I was bathing Whit last night I noticed a rash creeping across his chin. I panicked. He had had Annie’s mac and cheese (something he’s had many, many times) and a lollipop (I could not really read the label, twisted as it was around the stem, but come on? Jolly Ranchers, with nuts?) and I can’t figure out what he reacted to. I ran out to get Benadryl and it calmed right down.
I was really anxious this time, much more so, frankly, than the last two ER visits. This despite the reaction being far milder. I just got myself thinking about the world being a fraught place for my little guy, about what it is that makes someone allergic. I feel the same way about allergies as I do about auto-immune diseases: there is something insidious about these reactions, where the body attacks itself. Can we ever understand why?
Of course I realize how tremendously minor Whit’s challenges are, how truly blessed I am that this is the thing I have to worry about right now. I know. I promise, I know. Still, for a moment, I thought: Crap. I’ve done it again. A fantastic mother three-peat.
I put the pirate hat on him when he was sleeping, which was not terribly easy. All my attempt to make you laugh.