And He Didn't Even Cry! (Much)

With four boys in the house, a lot of my stories end with "...and he didn't even cry!" Because my boys are sensitive and loving, yet tough when it counts. Today, Sam got to prove his mettle when we finally broke down and consulted a dermatologist about his diaper rash. Before you start sending me e-mails, yes we tried Desitin, Boudreaux's Butt Paste, and soaking in baking soda baths. Then we moved on to Custom Paste, Exelderm and one other prescription thing which resulted in three months of "I think it's going away!", followed closely by, "No wait -- I think it's coming back again." So today, when it seemed possible that it might bleed in spots (again), I pulled the plug and loaded him up for a trip to the dermatologist.

When we got there, we had to sit in the waiting room while a lot of well intentioned people asked way too many questions. I usually try to keep the whole triplet thing under wraps when I have them out one at a time, because frankly it just makes me way too interesting. And most of the time I'm so tired that staring at a badly painted wall for 15 minutes is like a little mini vacation. But one of the receptionists that knows Jason outed me right away, so I was fair game. Unfortunately, one of the ladies in the waiting room had three year old twins and was sure she knew exactly what I had been through. I managed not to ask how she enjoyed her four months on bedrest, but only by exerting a lot of self-control.

Once we got in to see the doctor, it all went very quickly. Unfortunately, a biopsy was needed just to be sure he didn't have some sort of flesh eating disease. Sam was a real trooper, and only cried a little when the numbing medicine was injected, and a little more when the stitch was put in. The Dr. was very impressed -- as well he should be. Sam already seems to be responding to the new medicine. So, all in all, mission accomplished. But this was definitely one of those situations where a mom wishes she could take the hit for her kid.

I'm only 2 and a half years into being a mom, and have already had numerous occasions where I wanted to "take one for the team." What's it going to be like the first time their team loses? The first time their heart gets broken? Or the first time they lose someone they love forever? How on earth am I supposed to sit by and watch that? I'm assuming there's an entire chapter devoted to this in the "New Mommy Handbook" that I somehow failed to pick up before leaving the hospital with my new baby. But until I find a second-hand copy somewhere, I guess I'm just going to have to keep winging it -- wincing and wishing I could make it better all the while.