That Bites

When Atrain was just a little tyke (well, littler) two small, calloused lumps appeared on the surface of his skin. They itched. He scratched. They swelled up to the size of a quarter. I drew lines on his skin to monitor the growth of the strange, red, risen lumps. Twenty four hours passed and they only grew larger. So, being a first time mom, I did what I knew how to do best: panic.

I called the dermatologist and exclaimed that I had a medical emergency. They wiggled a bit of room in their schedule for my lumpy toddler. When I got there I had to hold Atrain in my arms while they took a core sample of the strange circular growths. I guess they needed a pathologist’s trained eye to tell me that they were simply bug bites. And Atrain had an obvious allergic reaction.

Ever since then I try to carry a bottle of bug spray with me whenever summer time rolls around. But why does it take me one bad night of bug bites to make me remember just how important it is to be thorough? The poor kid got eaten alive the first night of the family reunion. I thought I sprayed him down well enough, but I thought wrong. Some hungry, blood sucking, deet-immune mosquito feasted on the back of my little boy’s forearm. Now Atran’s little arm is so swollen it looks like Pop-eye’s. Poor kid.

I left church today to break the Sabbath by buying Benadryl and Cars band-aids. Hopefully having Lightening McQueen smiling up at him from his inflamed forearm will help his arm look a little less lop-sided. Right now I’m really having a hard time believing in the importance of biodiversity.