Do you know what an inflammatory papule is? That would be a pimple. How about a vesicular skin lesion? Those would be the itchy culprits in chicken pox. The vocabulary doctors use to describe skin conditions can sometimes be more mystifying than the disease itself. And I hate being mystified. Thank goodness for the internet.
Have you ever felt sure DCFS (Department of Child and Family Services) was going to show up at your door to rescue your child? Oh…me neither. I might have to worry about such a thing if I had ever ignored my baby’s crying for almost an hour because I thought she was trying to get out of taking a nap but she had actually acid-pooped her pants. I mean, surely I’m not that kind of mother?
Unfortunately, I was—but I’m learning. In my defense, I think Little Miss’ eczema issues make her skin super sensitive. (As in sometimes food she smears on her face will leave big red spots.) It is my opinion that this sensitivity plays a hand in her ability to go from healthy, happy bum cheeks to burning, bleeding bum cheeks in a matter of moments. (Am I the only one surprised that diaper rash involves bleeding? Just little spots but I had no idea poop could eat all the way through the skin. Ouch.) And once that diaper rash shows up it is almost impossible to get rid of. Little Miss and I cried through a lot of diaper changes before I found a solution that worked for us. (Side note: I think the muscles-clenched, shivering-in-pain look babies get is the most heartbreaking thing on earth.)
Back in my good old days of reigning in coolness over the local pharmacy counter I had one particular type of phone call that really frustrated me (and ruined my all-knowing image). These calls went something like this:
When Little Miss was a few months old we were all sitting together in a quiet church meeting and right in the middle she produced some impressively noisy gas. When the family of teenage boys in front of us glanced back to check out the source of the noise (it was pretty loud), Mr. Goldman looked at one of the boys (as only he can) and whispered, “Was that you?” Holy cow that poor kid turned red. The rest of us burst into very non-churchy giggles while his mom helped him figure out what had really happened. I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.