Take Two Tums and Call Me in the Morning

Yesterday morning when he woke up, Beanie had a rash on his face.   It was bright red and on the side that he sleeps on.

I about died.

I ran to the phone and called the pediatrian, but I got their answering machine.   I left a message, patiently waited 30 second, then dialed again, left a message, waited 30 seconds, dialed again.   Finally, someone answered.   I was speaking so fast though that the nurse couldn’t understand me.

“MY BABIES FACE!” I think I remember shrieking.   “SOMETHING’S HAPPENED TO MY BABY’S FACE!”

“Okay, honey,” the nurse said calmly.   “Now, listen carefully to me.   Are you a first-time mom, Sweetie?”

“Uh…um…well….yes,” I muttered.

“Alright,” she said as calmly as before.   “Why don’t you bring that baby in here and let me get a good look at him.   MMmmkay?”

True – she was patronizing.   True – she was belittling.   But her calmness was just what I needed.   I hung up the phone feeling much better.   And then I called everyone I knew and told them Beanie was dying.

Of course, in the 20 minutes it took me to get to the doctor’s office, the rash disappeared.   Completely.   There were a few little red patches left on one of his cheeks, but he looked rosy and healhy instead of blotchy and sickly like he did at home.   But my doctor didn’t bat an eye.   She checked him over like he may have a case of the plauge.   She asked me questions and nodded understandingly with each of my long, drawn out, dramatic answers.   And when I sort of laughed and said that maybe I had overreacted, she patted my hand and said, “There’s no such thing as overreacting when you’re a mom.”

I could have kissed her.   I may have kissed her.   I can’t be sure.

Once the Beanie was dressed again and we both agreed that he had a bit of a heat rash from being swaddled in the warm weather, she asked if I had any other questions since I was already in the office.   I randomly remembered that Beanie had started really crying and screaming hard during the last few ounces of every bottle.   I had thought that it was just a growing bigger thing, but the more I told the pediatrician about it, the more it sounded to both of us that something was not quite right.

And then the doctor started asked me questions:   Was he spitting up more?   Yes.   Was he taking in more food?   Yes.   Was he crying after he ate?   Yes.   Was he getting worse?   Yes.

Turns out that Beanie may have acid reflux!   So she wrote him a teeny tiny prescription, patted my hand again and told me I was a good mom, and sent me on my way.

Acid reflux has nothing to do with his rash, but isn’t it a good thing Beanie had a rash so that I brought him in to see the doctor?   I guess my mother’s intuition is still trying to right itself.   I knew something was wrong, my radar was just a little off about what it was – rash or reflux?   Hopefully, I’ll get better and better at this.

For now, Beanie doesn’t seem to mind.   He’s happy as a little pig.   With reflux.   And a rash.