So first, Ike was all, like this:
And I was all, OMG! Look at my poor baby! He's got a rash! There's like, eight whole spots on his body and his cheeks are splotchy! Oh, for the love of WOE.
And then Ike was all, like this:
And I was all, uh, shit?
Back in the day, when they used to give out antibiotics like Tylenol-laced Halloween candy, I had chronic ear infections (and later, tubes). So I took a LOT of antibiotics, And eventually developed allergies to just about every single one. The 'cillins, the 'miacins, the 'cyclines and the sulfas, and probably a bunch of others that I've now forgotten about, much to the frustration of EVERY DOCTOR EVER who has stared at that list and then back at me, like, "Yeah, you have a UTI, but what the fuck do you expect me to do about it? Go drink some cranberry juice, Time Bomb."
But my allergic reactions were, you know, actual, straightforward reactions. Hives, usually cropping up after the first or second dose. I've always been pretty hive-y -- I still get them from stuff like mosquito bites, detergents, cosmetics, and from walking out of a warm building into the cold, which is apparently an Actual Thing.
So I knew this was something different -- the rash was more like raised, pin-pointy measles than hives, and it did not appear to bother Ike in the slightest. He just looked, well, vaguely infectious. His doctor was like, oh, yeah, some kids get that after a few days on amoxicillin. It'll go away on its own, no biggie.
So then Ike was all, O RLY DOCTOR?
Happy Easter, everybody! I got you a baby. He's only slightly diseased. Arms and legs, mostly.
The photos, of course, do not even come CLOSE to capturing how insane this rash was. It was everywhere, a mixture of horrible scattered spots and large patches of bright red where the individual spots had merged to form a singular Borg Of Rash.
Ezra took one look at it on Easter morning and recoiled in disgust. "We have to get a new baby," he informed me. "Dis one is all yucky."
So I had no idea that a person could have a rash THIS VICIOUS and still not actually be 1) allergic to anything, or 2) itchy. I kept wanting to smear him up in ointment and dose him with Benadryl on principle -- to feel like I was doing SOMETHING about his poor, pockmarked body. But there was really nothing to be done but continue with the final doses of the antibiotic and ignore the side-eye from other parents at the playground, who clearly thought we'd brought a kid with measles or chicken pox along and like, hadn't noticed it, maybe? Uhh, lady? Everything okay over there? Because dat baby is all yucky.
It's much better today, though I've developed a very weird definition of what I now consider "better." Better is not "all gone," but more like "not quite so suggestive of a flesh-eating disease." Just a few bad patches here and there, while everything else is simply fading away. Ike is only annoyed by my continued obsession with it and the fact that I keep pulling his clothes off 20 times a day for a status update.
And we all learned an important lesson about why it doesn't matter how many babies you have, they will continue to find new and interesting ways to freak your shit out. The end.