Being sick and being a mother do not mix. Toddlers give zero shits that you want to crawl into a hole and die. Woken out of my NyQuil induced coma with Kleenex balls stuffed up my nose, my head feeling like it’s going to explode and sounding like Janis Joplin after a night of singing, whisky drinking and chain-smoking. I stumble to Wyatt’s room, he looks a little pissed that it took me so long, then laughs at the Kleenex in my nose. Of course he wants to be carried everywhere, screams for milk as soon as we get downstairs not understanding that me getting coffee as soon as humanly possible is integral to his survival this morning. Throws his cereal because, well, I have no freaking clue what the offending action was. We make it to the living room to his nonstop whining chant of “Wall-e!” “Wall-e!” Wall”-e!”. I cannot find the god damned DVR remote and it won’t get past the play menu without it. “Wall-e!!!!” Where in the flipping hell could the remote go?! Why today? Why?!?!?!! Thankfully we find his second current favorite on cable and peace is temporarily restored. This isn’t working, I can’t breathe. We are going to have to brave a trip to Vantucky to get some real Sudafed.
In my lovely state of Oregon, it is illegal to buy Sudafed. The law was meant to make it more difficult for meth addicts to get ingredients used to make meth. Nice try Oregon. I know you meant well, but really? Meth addicts, if nothing else, are incredibly resourceful. I however, have yet to find a legal replacement for Sudafed. The stuff they put in cold meds to replace it is, I’m convinced, the medicinal equivalent to a tic tac. I still see just the same amount, if not more, meth addicts around. I would love to see the statistics on meth use since the ban. Now Oregon looks like an episode of Walking Dead, with a bunch of zombified meth addicts intermixed with people who look like meth addicts but are really just normal folks too congested to function.
Vantucky is actually Vancouver, Washington, really not all that far away, but I really hate having to make the trip over there. It feels hours away, and if you get stuck in the commuter traffic, it will literally be hours away. In the Walgreens parking lot sitting in the car, I find myself pinching my cheeks and fluffing my hair in an attempt to look more presentable and less meth like so they won’t think I’m a meth addict from Oregon crossing states to score some meth ingredients. Pretty much like putting lipstick on a pig at this point. What the hell my doing? Yes I look a little haggard from being sick, and maybe I’m a little wild-eyed and twitchy from doubling my caffeine intake in an attempt to feel human. Throw in the fact that I have a two year old who is exercising his right to fight every single battle this morning, and I’m lucky to have made it out of the house with real pants on. Is there much difference in how I look and how a meth addict looks? Probably not. First of all, I’m sure the lovely people at Walgreens could care less, and second, I’m sure they can smell my guilt and feelings of shame as I ask how many boxes I can legally buy at one time? Why am I the one left feeling guilty like I have to explain myself? My darting eyes and overcompensating hautiness is exhausting to pull of while I feel snot starting to run down my face with not a Kleenex in sight. All of this angst and the bored Walgreens employee simply treats me like I’m just another customer, because that’s just what I am.
I make a mental note to remember to try to get a standing prescription for it from my PCP the next time I see her, which I will inevitably not ask for, in fear that she will mistake the desperate pleading in my voice as a need for the last ingredient needed to fuel my giant “Breaking Bad” sized meth operation.
Wyatt, thank god, wasn’t sick at the same time. He did have a nice giant disgusting looking rash on one leg and in his diaper area. I called the doctor’s office to ask about his rash and when she asked where it was the best I could come up with is that it was in his bikini area. The advice nurse on the phone laughed and laughed and laughed. “You mean his groin?” Well yes, I suppose, but really, the crease between your thigh and groin is exactly where it was, and “groin” seems too general, so to be specific, “bikini line” really works. Yes it is odd since he is a boy, and a baby. Could I say “Speedo line”? Is that more manly? Anyway, Wyatt had a diarrhea, leading to a bad diaper rash, that quickly turned into a staph infection that got passed on to his right leg. He looked like a leper. He also, understandably, screamed like he was being beaten anytime we changed his diaper. I am honestly surprised protective services didn’t show up at our door. Before we figured out it was a staph infection, there were several calls to the doctor, and bless his heart, my husband loves to try to fix everything, so he was Googling every sign and symptom while I was at work to try and diagnose the rash. I work in a hospital, and see and get exposed to some pretty disgusting things, things that Kris is always convinced I’m going bring home to infect the whole family. While I was at work these are the texts I received: “Do you think it’s scabies?”, “when was Wyatt last vaccinated”, What about MRSA, I think it’s MRSA”, “Does Zika virus start with a rash?” and on and on. My replies were “no”, “it’s not related to a vaccine”, “nope”, and “Babe, get off of Google!!!” Skin rashes can be from so many different things they are really hard to diagnose. Wyatt has very fair skin and gets red and bumpy from pretty much everything. Try googling any kind of skin disease and look at the pictures that come up. Of course there won’t be pictures of a run of the mill staph infection, that’s boring. Although they will take a picture of the most horrify disgusting flesh-eating infection they can find. And just like every WebMD symptom checker leads to cancer; every Google search for “bright red bikini area rash” leads to flesh eating oozing bacterial infection.
Speaking of disgusting things – I will never again judge moms of toddlers that look like tiny homeless people. Wyatt looks like he lives in a sewer. His nails are scraggly and filthy, his hair is unkempt, his ears could grow potatoes and there is pretty much always crust around his nose. Wyatt loses his damn mind when we try to cut his nails. I’m not exaggerating, he screams, cries and shakes like a caged wild animal. I feel like I’m going to bruise his hands from trying to hold him down so that I can cut one nail. Inevitably he wriggles so much that I do end up cutting one too close, which gives him a decent reason to flip out. This has to be repeated for twenty digits, TWENTY! He does the same thing when we try and clean his ears (even just the outer portion), cut his hair, etc. I shouldn’t need to follow a haircut with an entire bottle of wine. Here is a million dollar idea- heard of sleep dentistry for kids? How about sleep grooming!? Take your toddler to the clinic, give them a little ketamine, and have at it! They would be all groomed and sparkling new in 30 minutes! Seriously, some entrepeneur type – take this idea and run with it. You’re welcome. Maybe throw some free punch cards my way when you make it big.