[rash]

She broke out in a rash. Random virus the pediatrician says. But why can't I Google it? Why can't it be found on WebMD or AskDrSears.com? Why can't I do anything assuage my fears that my bad has raging pneumococcal influenza because I chose not to vaccinate. Why didn't I take better care to wash her hands and face. Her rash is a physical manifestation of my crunchy granola new age hippie mama doubt and guilt because I've (at least temporarily) turned my back on modern science and foregone the standard operating procedure.

And then I remember that we had a flea outbreak a couple of weeks ago. She woke up for several days with flea bites. A sitting duck. A unwitting feast for a flock of hungry fleas. FUCK, I think. It was fleas that carried THE FUCKING PLAGUE. The red dots that flush out from underneath her sweet baby arm pits strike fear of the black death in my tentative first time mama heart. While she sleeps, I spend the night Googling the symptoms of common baby rashes trying rationally to rule out my entirely irrational Bubonic Plague diagnosis. Since when did I become this kind of person?

Since I became a mother.

In the morning the rash is gone as quickly as it appeared. I feel foolish for worrying. But I know that I will never be fully worry-free again. (jenn)

Not to do anything sudden, too quick. To make a bold decision. On the spot. The red spots, the tiny angry bites emerging out of the skin. My baby's virgin skin. Soft as petals. Open to dew. The Jewel is in the Lotus. The hidden heart of my child, the inner recesses. I want to go slow, take time, make time. I am overwhelmed with how much love I can pour into this person, all the love I ever dreamed of giving, always welcome and needed. It takes time. The fever strikes, and it is high. All my love can't keep him well. All my love can't keep him alive. I'm brought to my knees, there's rugburn, there's a scar where I once knelt. Where I once slid down. Where my baby was born, where my old self used to be. Scars on my cervix, scarred mind. The images burn. The rash is almost gone. My lower back aches. My baby smiles. My heart aches with an explosiveness I can't explain. The volcano erupts and sparks fly. Red sparks on white skin. Where the heat was turned up. Where God takes the reins, and we ride. (liz)

Rash..don't hurt my baby or me. We're just living on love and patience. I don't like doing things at the pace we're moving these days. Too fast, too rash. Heart feels like it's racing constantly. Need more time to slow down. No race for this girl right now. Slow...slow...slow. Feel my breath returning to it's natural rhythm. Grateful that my precious baby is healthy, no rashes in sight for now. God, I hope he learns to slow down. Don't want him to be rash or to have a rash. I love watching him sleep, seeing him at peace. I wish he would allow himself more moments like that during the waking hours. But what a joy and a force to reckon with during those waking hours. He's beautiful and his spirit is so bright. His perfect skin has already seen the marks of scratches from branches and rocks in his pursuit of life outdoors. He's unstoppable..like a rash. Just exploding to the surface, making himself known. Telling us he's here all the time in his boisterous, loud way. It makes my heart ache with love just to think of his way. What a gift. (jenny)

The doctor apologized for the sad news, telling me it was indeed the worst kind of rash to have. I was a bit surprised, thinking at least no one could see it -- how bad could it be? What I would soon find out was that while others couldn't see the rash itself festering inside of me, the effects of it were quite a different story.

I wondered in what part of my body had the rash spread now that it had been several weeks. It had started in my left arm, according to the doctor, and was spreading both up and down from there. I felt like I was walking around like some sort of hunchback-ogre-zombie combination, but others said they more noticed the overcorrection I was succumbing to. The irritating urge to correct people often turned me into an overzealous police force. No one was safe in my house, and I was worried that I was going to take new victims out on the street.

I imagined the rash with its puss-filled growths, a jungle of mess, and could understand why everyday words often never made it to the correct part of my brain to add to my sentences. When the rash began to spread inside my brain, I wondered whether life as I knew it would ever be the same and would all the misery be worth it. (laura)

I’m wiping the drool off my daughter’s chin so the pebbly raw red rash that covers it will go away (I had a rash like this in college, from making out with a guy that needed a shave), but it’s a false sense of security. Sort of like flying pre-9/11 or eating organic kale. What I mean is: I’m keeping her chin dry with the notion that I can vouchsafe her health. Also, so outwardly it will appear that I’m on top of my mommy duties. I’m characteristically lazy about so many of these things. My baby came early so I didn’t get to spend the last trimester sipping malts and reading up on all this stuff, as I thought I might. Now I’m continually scrambling, in my sleepy fog, reacting to a rash or her hot forehead against my cheek. “You know, there’s something you can buy for that cradle cap,” my mom says (“cradle crap?” I think), “we should clear that up before we take her to meet the relatives.” “Are you worried about giardia in the lake water?” my mother asks. “Huh?” I think. Pebbly rashes, cradle crap, a river of dr ool from her sprouting teeth. These are all things I’m supposed to monitor and rectify, and I’m eager and happy to do it. But part of me is secretly happy that these tiny bumps appear. They’re proof that she’s right on track, doing all the things that Dr. Sears says she’s supposed to be doing at 10 months. Because when I delivered my 2 pound 7½ ounce little bird, I knew that coping with these comparatively banal (but still worrisome!) aspects of mommyhood would actually be a gift. (paula)

Okay 5 minutes …RASH here is goes.

As if I didn’t have enough to think about there is it staring back at me reminding me that I am not doing enough for my child, reminding me that if I didn’t work I would be there to wipe every bit of drool off her chin and so she wouldn’t have a rash that ate away at her skin. Reminding me that her sitter isn’t wiping every bit of drool off. Her sitter is not doing it her sitter is she even looking at her, does she leave her in a room all day and lock the door and let her scream? No if she did that Chloe wouldn’t smile at her when she sees her for the first time or when she leaves her at the end of the day. But it is still there nonetheless that stupid redness like Satan is wiping his dirty hands all over my child. Use diaper cream on it. What are you crazy? Use Vaseline, Cortisone. Keep it dry, keep it clean. Oh my god I forgot that it was there again, it is still there. What is on your child’s chin? I burnt her. I smacked her. It’s a RASH I don’t know what it is so there!!! And I don’t know how to get rid of it!!!! It hurts me too but doesn’t seem to bother her that much I guess. Rash stupid rash again! (rebecca)