Winter Legs and No More Baby

This is how you know that your baby is only still a baby to you.

Monk had his first swim lesson this morning.  I kept holding out starting him in lessons because I dreaded the thought of suiting up once a week to go hop in a  pool flanked by an entire wall of glass through which everyone and their grandma can watch you. But I gave in and signed him up, more terrified of his lack of swimming ability than my saddle bags on display.

We were running late, (contain your shock) so we rushed into the first dressing room, stripped down and threw on our suits in record time. I headed out to the pool and in my head it went like this:

I slow motion  push through the door at which point all the instructors and life guards stop, turn and gape wide eyed at me. The one closest tells me in the low drawn out, 5-minutes-to-say-one-word type of speech, with her head tilted to the side, that he isn't in a mommy and me class (in other words, "Why are you standing here in your swim suit?) because he is now two.

What?!?!?!

He turned two today. This morning. Hours ago! How is he suddenly old enough to be in a pool without me?

So here I am standing in front of 3-5 skinny, 20-somethings in my swim suit, all three-baby bodied and 2 month old pedicured with winter legs. I am now ready to cry because you've just told me that my baby isn't a baby and doesn't need me, and now I must slink away back to the other side of the glass to get redressed and somehow try to reclaim what is left of my pride.

I know this isn't the last time that someone will slap me in the face with the fact that my baby is now a card carrying member of the toddler race, I mean I still try to rock the 8 year old for goodness sakes. I can only hope that it will never again happen when I'm so vulnerably suited up.

Halloween Hysteria...aka Teal Trepidation!

There is a slight irony with the fact that I posted about our gourd allergy just as the nation started to get inundated with teal pumpkins. Friends and family posted on my social media about FARE's Teal Pumpkin Project. I thought that it was a great way to spread awareness and I, like so many food allergy parents, was amazed at the speed with which word spread. 

And just like so many things aimed at spreading awareness through well thought out and creative means, (How many of us dumped water on our heads for ALS?) the naysayers and Debbie Downers started to surface. I had been doing a good job of ignoring the nasty comments on social media, mainly because I just don't have time to read 17 opinions to something that seems so blatantly harmless (not to mention optional).

But then I made the mistake of reading this article on Munchies. The site name alone should have tipped me off.  These people are serious about their food, and like a toddler with his Cheerios (or Chex in our case), be prepared for a battle if you try to take it away. The basic premise of the article, by Alison Stevenson, is that the Teal Pumpkin Project is taking something away from Halloween that we as children long adored, and calling out those participating as helicopter parents seeking attention for "mostly made-up" allergies.

Half right. I'm a helicopter mom and I will shout it on the mountain tops that my child has life threatening allergies.  I mean, you are reading a blog post about it now. But what Ms. Stevenson doesn't understand is why we are like this. There are so many more of her in this world than there are of us, and it is not only our job to keep kids safe, but also to educate as many people as we can along the way. 

As much as she is right in her point that the world has changed from when we were let loose as kids to prowl neighborhood streets with pillowcases filled to top with sugary, chocolatey goodness, that is not the only thing about our world to have changed.  Food allergies among children have increased by 50% between 1997 and 2011, so it is very possible that many of us didn't come in contact with any children with food allergies during our own childhood. 

If the world were the same as when I was a child I could send my kids outdoors with no more than instructions to come home when the street lamps came on. I would assume that every person who comes up to speak to my children is well meaning and not a psychopath. They wouldn't be sitting in car seats. Life would certainly be easier and devoid of so many parental worries, but would it be safer? Since we can't go back, we learn to parent differently and make decisions that keep the balance of safe and happy.

What FARE is suggesting with the Teal Pumpkin Project just helps to balance the safe and happy for food allergies families.  I don't expect our friends and neighbors to stop handing out candy with peanuts or milk in the ingredient list, but if a Teal Pumpkin helps one kid to get excited about being able to keep what he receives at my door, then great!  And if some others get an education about food allergies on the side, helping make the other 364 days of the year easier on me as an allergy mom and safer for my Monk, then even better. 

If Ms. Stevenson is "allergic to feelings" (SO could have done without her mocking of an anaphylactic reaction) I am allergic to ignorance and lack of empathy.  And although I do turn a shade of green as I think of the her munching away on Reese's or Snickers this Halloween, I can hope that whatever Trick-or-Treat bag she nabs from this year is filled with an unfair proportion of those orange and black wrapped molasses atrocities or maybe a bunch of circus peanuts.

Too harsh? 

Either way, we will be supporting the Teal Pumpkin Project this year with treats like Halloween Slap Bracelets, Splat Eye-balls, and Monk's favorite candy (cause it's all he eats), Dum Dums. My older children are excited about this year and sharing their love and empathy for their brother with friends and neighbors.

Whether your pumpkin is teal, orange or sporting pink ribbons, we wish you all a happy Halloween and fun night of Trick-or-Treating!!!

No Great Pumpkin This Year, Charlie Brown

A few weeks ago we went into our allergist for a routine visit. Routine. Did you catch that?

It may not have a lot of significance to the everyday person, but routine means that we made it months without a major issue, without a major reaction, Epi incident, or new food failure. We made it through the entire summer without seeing a medical professional about anything allergy related.  It was a great new normal.

Heading into Fall, the season when all things pumpkin start getting thrown in our faces, I asked for a skin test for pumpkin.  Last Fall Monk reacted to eating pumpkin. He was never tested for it, but it was put on his list of allergies and we were told to avoid it.  Since our family hosts a pumpkin carving party each year I thought it might be good to find out for sure before 50+ screaming children go flinging pumpkin guts around my house and yard.

His skin testing was negative.

See that small insignificant dot in the bottom right corner amidst all the crazy big hives? That is the pumpkin.With instructions to try it at home, we reveled in being able to remove something from the list and enjoy the pumpkiny-ness of the season.

It seemed like all things pumpkin were showing up earlier this year, as if the finale to the 4th of July fireworks signaled all green leaves to suddenly shift in preparation for cinnamon and nutmeg production.  But no worries, because this was one food we could handle!

With our first taste of the pumpkin being successful, I found myself clearing the isles of pumpkin baby food pouches, so excited to be able to buy more than our standard 4 varieties.   

Typically we use food pouches for when we are out and about or following a minor reaction when Monk's appetite is waning. Since school is back in full force, our evenings are a bit hurried, so when Monk was still hungry after his dinner, I grabbed a pouch and handed it over.  Within a few minutes he started crying and threw the pouch, half eaten, onto the floor. I picked it up, he threw it down.

Then the real action began with coughing and vomiting.  Two systems engaged, but I still picked up the phone and called our allergist.  As I described the reaction, I saw the hives pop up.  Epi-time. After we gave him the shot we loaded the whole family into the car (Road trip!) and drove to the ER just down the street, checking in with the allergist on the road.

I feel a bit like we are ER champs these days.  I know the drill and almost answer questions before they are asked. I know the course of treatment and what medications to expect.  I am calm and cool under the pressure and pretty much the opposite of what friends and family see on a regular stressful day.

While I might be the one you can call to hurdle you through the inner workings of our Hospital ER system, there are some things that don't change and don't get easier.  I still take a deep breath and hold it as I have to plunge the Epi Pen into my child's thigh. I still feel the same aching pain in my chest when nurses hold him down to start and IV or when I have to hold the nebulizer to his face as he screams through another breathing treatment.  These are certainly some of the worst moments.

This time was not so bad.  After getting IV medication and fluids started, he began to get better and four hours later we were released and went home to regain a sense of normalcy (especially since school started for the other two 8 short hours later.)

So we did the hospital thing, again. We had an "Oops! Maybe no on the pumpkin." I can live in a world without pumpkin and so can Monk.  It doesn't send me to my knees to know that he can't have a piece of pumpkin pie, or enjoy fresh pumpkin seeds after carving a spooky jack-o-lantern.  This cultural obsession with all things pumpkin will pass, and we will move on. We are choosing to take a year off from our Annual Pumpkin Carving Party that we have hosted for 8 years straight, but in light of our new view on pumpkin, we hope all will understand.

We wish you all a Happy Halloween and certainly condone the use of sharp objects again the offending squash.  So ready, set.....CARVE!