I'm Allergic to the State

I did not want to spoil my daughter's first birthday post with bitterness and complaining, so here is the post-birthday apocalyptic story complete with sarcasm and perhaps a few ungodly attitudes (which I decided to share with my pastor's wife; because I really didn't want the leaders of our church to have a good opinion of me anyway [insert spit-wielding raspberry]).

Hannah has had some violent reactions (including projectile vomiting, major congestion and sneezing, hives, anemia, and general miserableness) to several foods including milk and nutter butters. (Before you start judging, no, I did not give my one year old a whole nutter butter cookie. It was a bite-sized nutter butter, and she begged me for it with Bambi eyes... until the puking commenced at which point she looked at me as if I had purposefully tried to poison her with arsenic. And then I proceeded to feel like the best mother ever.)

At her one year appointment the pediatrician recommended that we do an allergy test to make sure she doesn't have future and more ER-visit-inducing reactions. So I took my daughter to the lab for a blood draw. Of course, she picked this day to be the sweetest, gentlest, most endearing child ever born. Just in case I wasn't already going to feel absolutely terrible about this. She wanted to be sure as she gazed up at me with those singularly amazing blue eyes and adorable two toothed smile that I felt, in fact, like the best mother ever.

At the lab I was instructed to wrap Hannah up straight-jacket style on my lap, while one nurse held her arm, and the other inserted a javelin through her skin. I think there must have been a shortage on surgical equipment at the factory, and one clever foreman decided that 18 inch sewer pipes once bleached out could substitute for infant needles. My brave girl did an amazing job. She hardly cried at all, except when they took her slinky away. (The slinky will need further discussion later, but for now, suffice it to say, most of our known world revolves around blankies, pacifiers, and this one orange slinky.) Attached to the needle was a syringe that could hold about 2 liters, and I think they really wanted to fill it up. Just as I was about to ask if my daughter might need some of that left in her system, the nurse removed the tube and capped it. Phew. She then attached another 2 liter coke bottle to the needle and milked a little more out of her. "Y'all got a hungry brood of vampires in the back somewhere? Is this for your world renowned 1 million leach collection? STOP!" my brain screamed. However, my brave baby sat grumpy yet patient until they were done, and then fiercely retrieved her slinky.

Both nurses said what an incredible job she did, and that she was one of the best babies they've ever had in the lab. Well, yes, she is awesome. That's what I've been saying. We sent our regards to the vampires and left.

Monday yielded the results of Baby Brave's blood draw. Drum roll please. Hannah is allergic to: milk, soy, eggs, wheat, peanuts, cashews, and latex. WHAT??!!! Cashews???!!!! Oh no, how ever will we circumvent all of the millions of cashews littering back alleys and seedy side-streets just waiting to jump out and mug sweet, innocent baby girls who happened to end up in the nutty side of town? How will we ever avoid all those darn cashews? I mean milk, sure, who wants to eat ice cream, yogurt, cheese, and butter on a regular basis? Wheat: no problem! It's not like wheat is in ever possible side dish or sandwich conceived by man. And really, no one cooks ANYTHING in peanut oil nowadays. Everyone secretly hates Reeses Peanut Butter cups, no loss there. But oh, oh, turn your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom, what ever are we to do about this cashew allergy. (I promised you sarcasm, and sarcasm is what I deliver. You're welcome.)

As Justin is out of a job at the moment we are on WIC. It has been an absolute blessing. However, after the six pints of blood they took out of my sweetie bear and telling me she's allergic to everything but peas, my mood was not improved by our visit to the WIC office. I had to leave work early, pick up Hannah's lab results, deliver a copy of the nutrition prescription form to her pediatrician, wait for the pediatrician to elect almond milk for Hannah to drink, go pick up my kids, take prescription, tired children, and lab results to WIC office, only to be told they will not provide almond milk. In fact, for situations like hers, there are only two brands of formula they will cover. ...My my, but wouldn't that have been some nice information to have at the start of this process four hours and half a tank of gas ago. So now, the woman toting two children on the verge of tantrums, a diaper bag, and her hopes and dreams about gets to drive herself back across town to the pediatrician, explain to them why she needs the same form filled out again, and drive back to WIC with said form. Oh, and I don't want my daughter to have formula. I would rather keep nursing her. But WIC doesn't support nursing after one year of age. So we no longer get any food for me or baby food for Hannah. But Hannah does get vouchers for whole wheat cereal, peanut butter, and eggs. ...

And that's when I killed them, your honor.

I know we are among the richest people on earth. I have a wonderful family, the support of friends, a roof over our heads, and plenty of food to put on the table (just not anything with milk, nuts, wheat, eggs, or soy in it). My key to success during this era of our lives has been to maintain genuine gratitude to our God who provides. But sometimes I get so weary of actively having to recall blessings. Sometimes it is exhausting being optimistic. Sometimes life just sucks. And for so many reasons today is that sometime.