In case I haven’t said so lately, there’s just no way to put a price on great web hosting. I mean, sure, between the people who want to fill my blog up with links to Haitian pharmaceuticals and my own bumbling attempts to fix things (not to mention Otto’s valiant efforts to remedy the situation), there are gonna be a few days that the blog, it done get blowed up. (Yes, that’s the technical diagnosis.) And then it was all fixed and immediately was attacked in a different way, and yet my hosting service (Fusix! Love them!) continued on, barely muttering “Yeesh, this is a total pain in the ass,” under their breath as they fixed it. AGAIN.
SO ANYWAY, now that things are fixed (for the time being, anyway), I have to tell you something I keep forgetting about. You know, before my blog blows up again. (You so think I’m kidding, but guess what! Fusix just called to say they had to block the ENTIRE COUNTRY OF KOREA due to excessive network requests. And I’ve always liked Korea. It’s just been a really weird couple of days, okay?)
But here’s the funny little story I wanted to tell you.
Once upon a time, I had a beautiful baby boy who was bubbly and happy and fat and dimply and perfect. And that’s my completely unbiased opinion, of course. And one day he stuck his finger into some peanut butter and puffed up like the Michelin Man with an anaphylactic reaction, and he didn’t die, but I almost did. (He later became skinny and picky and positively riddled with food allergies, but primarily we worried about the peanut thing.) Doctors told us there was only a slight chance of him outgrowing the allergy, and half my hair turned gray.
(Being a parent is AWESOME!)
And then one day I wrote a very silly post because I was SCARED OUT OF MY MIND, because my darling child was going to be forced to eat some peanuts at the allergist’s office. Because he’d passed a blood test and was “most likely” no longer allergic.
Life is funny—it turned out that the allergist was correct, and Monkey was no longer allergic. My days of carrying Epipens and fretting were over, and Jif came back into our house, much to the delight of Chickadee and myself.
Mmmmm… peanut butter.
Monkey, by the way, still cannot STAND the stuff. He complains if he even SMELLS it. The rest of us love it, thought, because it’s PEANUT BUTTER and therefore delicious.
So, um, this summer has been kind of a difficult one in a million ways, but most notably in that poor Chickadee was diagnosed with Molloscum and then when it didn’t improve we went to the dermatologist, who insisted that she was allergic to berries, of all things.
We stopped giving her berries. She did not improve.
So I finally got her in to the see the allergist, and she had some testing. It was “largely inconclusive,” but she did have one small reaction that caused the allergist to recommend that we stop feeding her peanuts.
Chickadee hasn’t had peanut butter for a week.
Her skin is completely clear for the first time since June.
I think that someone—perhaps the March of Dimes, as I stopped supporting them when I found out that they get money from the National Peanut Growers Association and therefore refuse to recommend that pregnant women limit peanut intake if there is a history of food allergies, as the AAP is now recommending—is trying to tell me something.