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So we spent about 7,000 years, give or take a few minutes, at the pediatrician’s office today. I’m so brain dead now that I seem incapable of getting any real work done.
Gunne Bear has a cyst on each foot. No idea where they came from, but there they are. I’ve been wondering for the last few days what they were and now I know. They are supposed to burst. I’m not really looking forward to that, truth be told.
You know how you take your car to the mechanic and it stops making that sound? One day in a cloth diaper and his rash is like, 80% better. I was like, I swear; it was so much worse than this when I made the appointment!! I am not a hypersensitive extremist mother who assumes that her special snowflake should not suffer a single bump on his skin! Luckily for me, he believed me.
Gunne Bear is getting allergy testing on the 25th and we’ve been instructed to halt any new food introductions and take away his eggs and MY peanut butter until then. MY PEANUT BUTTER. Without peanut butter, I will die from starvation in about 5 minutes. I explained that Gunne Bear has EATEN peanut butter and never had a reaction and the pedi was like, So? I will be a skeleton by Tuesday. I’m changing my name to Skeletor.
Since I’ve never had the chicken pox, before he can be vaccinated, I have to get a prescription for a vial of vaccine, bring it to their office and get stuck myself. Twice. Before they will vaccinate him. Joy.
His BMI is 16 and he’s dropped even lower on the weight chart. *sigh* He’s still on the tall side, but his growth is slowing there, too. I wish I could get this kid to EAT more, it’s maddening.
While at the office, Gunne Bear picked up the delightful new habit of biting. Me. On the arm. Hard. I’ll let you imagine for yourself my extreme joy and ecstasy over this one.
So it’s been quite the day. I’m supposed to write four more articles this afternoon, and I just don’t think I have it in me. What I turn in may just be a bunch of gibberish littered with the words “tile” “VCT” and “granite” every so often. Blah.