Peanuts and Pointing Fingers

One week ago, I walked into Target and walked out with 2 Epi-pens. (Also: 2 gallons of milk, 3 pairs of children's sunglasses, 1 bunch of bananas, 2 jars of applesauce, 1 bag of marshmallows... and so on. But back to the Epi-pens...)

I never planned on needing Epi-pens. Who does, right? 

I do read Nutrition Facts, and I slide my eyes down a list of Ingredients. I even check out the allergen statements now and then, if I'm preparing something for a friend who has a food allergy. I just didn't expect to be checking for peanuts, or to register a meaningful difference between "processed in a facility with" vs. "processed on equipment that". I didn't picture myself as a mom of a kid with a peanut allergy. 

That is, until about three weeks ago and a quick-forming red rash around my one-year-old's mouth. The bar I'd made (ironically for a friend whose kids can't eat gluten) only had three simple ingredients: Cheerios, honey, and peanut butter. 

Two weeks, one blood test, and one scratch test later... And now I know.

I know that my third child can have a peanut allergy even if my first two have no allergies at all.

I know how to recognize the signs of anaphylaxis.

I know that I would need to hold the Epi-pen in my 1-year-old's baby leg for ten. whole. seconds. that's. about. this. long. including. screaming. yikes.

I know that there are certain restaurants we should avoid, and that "going out for ice cream" won't be quite as straightforward.

And I know that I did nothing differently to cause this.

I've done this baby thing before with allergy-free results!

I let Isaac play in the dirt.

I didn't explicitly feed him peanut butter before age 1, but I also didn't shield him from all things peanuty. He'd certainly been "exposed."

He does not live in an anti-bacterial bubble. Definitely not.

It just happened. He ate peanuts. He reacted. The allergist did a test and confirmed it. End of chapter. Beginning of new one. This isn't life-changing, but it is lifestyle-changing. 

For the most part, other people's reactions have ranged from "how did you find out?" to "at least it's only one allergen" to "oh no! I'm sorry!" to (my personal favorite) "did you do this, or not do that, or did you do this, and is that why he has it?"

I want to assume that the last segment of question askers mean well. Maybe they want to know how to avoid doing whatever I did so that their kid can eat PB&J's and DQ Blizzards (sorry Isaac). Maybe they've read up on it and feel somewhat educated, and therefore immune. I get it. To an extent, so did I.  

But guys, that last reaction, no matter how well it is meant, is basically finger-pointing. Like the poor so-called "refrigerator mothers" of the 1950s after their kids were diagnosed with autism, or, later, the false study that assigned the blame to vaccinations. Like giving no end of advice to parents whose babies truly don't sleep well, as if they haven't tried everything in the book, as if they just don't want sleep badly enough! Like looking askew at parents with a severely picky eater, as if they always only planned for their kid to eat just beige foods. 

There are genes, and environment, and temperament, and goodness-of-fit, and the best of intentions. 

Someday, when the research is clearcut, then we can all look back with our 20/20 hindsight vision and say: 

Isaac got a peanut allergy because of his affinity for wearing mismatched shoes. 

Until then, I'll have my Epi-pens, and my 3-year-old's monochromatic rainbow of foods, and my ever-expanding supply of empathy for moms and the one-of-a-kind kids they are raising. 

Time According to a Three-Year-Old

Three-year-old Tucker's most pressing question these days has been, "And what we do after that?" 

"What we do after my nap, Mama?"

"Maisy will come home."

"What we do after that?"

"Play."

"What we do after we play?"

"Eat supper."

"What we do after supper?"

"It's bath night."

"What we do after that?"

"Go nigh-night."

"What we do after we wake up?"

And so the chain continues, for as long as I manage to keep it up. It's usually a pretty mundane list involving meals, potty breaks, naps, and playtime, occasionally peppered with slightly more interesting events like going to church, or Grandma and Grandpa's house, or ice skating lessons. 

Tucker doesn't seem to mind the ordinary nature of the list. He might cheer about going to Grandma's, or groan about bath night if he isn't in the mood. In general, though, he's just curious about the passage of time: What comes next? When will we be home? When will I start preschool?

Today in the car, we had a slightly different version of the "what next?" conversation.

"When will I be in high school, Mama?"

"In about eleven years."

"Whoa! After my go to preschool, my going to kindergarten, and then my be in high school!"

"Not quite, buddy."

And so came the list:

"After preschool, you'll be in kindergarten. First you'll be in elementary school, then middle school, then high school, and then comes college. And after that, you'll be a grown-up like Mommy and Daddy." (Let's be real, people. We weren't "grown-ups" in college.)

His eyes widened, and his mouth formed a little O. 

"Wow! That will be in 10 minutes!!"

I laughed to myself. But I also had this tiny flash go off in my brain, like "this is one of those moments." I couldn't help but think ahead to some time in the future, when the rest of Tucker's baby roundness is gone, and he has said "I" instead of "my" for so long we have forgotten it was his thing. When he doesn't need me to buckle his car seat straps because he is driving his own car. When it has been many years since we were together all day every day, checking away at an unwritten list of mundane daily activities.  

Will it feel like it has been just 10 minutes? 

In September, Tucker starts preschool. From that point on, he'll spend incrementally less and less time at home, and more and more time as his own person out in the big world. My sweet little boy. I don't dread the passing of time. I don't even really feel like I need to slow it down, or savor the moments, or any of that business.

I just kind of like sitting here while my toddler boys nap, typing a more sentimental blog post, and drinking in this bittersweet sensation of my children growing up, just as they should. 

After all, in 10 minutes their sister will be home from school, and I'll be frantically preparing her an early dinner and braiding her hair for her ice show dress rehearsal tonight. I'll be changing diapers, dumping plastic potties, refereeing fights, and, oh yes, I have to squeeze in a way to also pick up flowers from the school fundraiser between 3:30 and 5:30. In 10 minutes, I'll be going non-stop.

But according to my three-year-old, 10 minutes after that they'll be all grown up, just like Mommy and Daddy.

I guess that's A+ Parenting Today.