Dear Smart People of the Internet:
Please tell the dumb girl this is not what she thinks it is.
I know I'm totally the Girl Who Cried Pox, since I freak out over every single rash he gets. One time I called my mom to report that Noah most definitely had chickenpox this time I really mean it, only to realize that I had red ink all over my hands and was simply smearing it on Noah every time I touched him, which was why the "rash" was spreading at an alarming rate RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES OMG.
My freak-out is completely selfish, as I'm all for Noah getting the pox over with before he's old enough to discover his fingernails and the Glory That Is A Good Scratch, but I NEVER HAD CHICKEN POX. THIS IS ALL ABOUT ME.
I planned to sweet-talk Noah's pediatrician into vaccinating me at his next visit, which is next week, like, OF COURSE.
(The Sidenote of Controversy! I am not going to vaccinate Noah against chickenpox, because as an adult who has never gotten the disease, and who has known for the better part of a decade that she needs the damn vaccine, yet still has not gotten said damn vaccine, I prefer for him to get his immunity the old-fashioned way -- just so I'm not calling him at college to bug him about getting the booster shot, knowing full well that he already spent his vaccine money on beer.)
Anyway, I think I am maybe being stupid about a harmless rash again (AGAIN!), but I'm taking him to the doctor anyway, if only to use that awesome "infectious disease" entrance they have with the special intercom.
Amy: UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!
Nurse: Yes, yes, please come in.
Amy: A POX ON THEE.
UPDATE! Not pox, just like you smart people said. While a couple spots were getting very fluidy-zit-like, the majority of the bumps faded by the time we GOT TO THE DOCTORS, BECAUSE OF COURSE. Looks like it's time to switch laundry detergents and for me to maybe chill the fuck out.
I'm getting vaccinated next week. God.
And Now, Some Non-Rash Excitement, Or Pretty Much The Highlight Of My Whole Weekend:
We went to Whole Foods and did the little thing where they send your groceries down to the parking garage on a dumb waiter and give you a number to claim them.
I take my organic prune juice shaken, not stirred.
HA! We're lame. Yes.
THE DEMENTED TURTLE. HA HA HA HA. HA!
Noah would like to give you a hug and possibly gum your face a little bit.
Just don't let him suck on your nose anymore. Or you know, ever, because who lets their baby suck on their nose? Not me, that's for sure, oh no.
Who, me? I'm just sitting here like some kind of TODDLER ALL OF A SUDDEN, thinking of fast and effective ways to pass varicella directly into my mom's sinuses.