We've been battling itchy alligator skin for going on nine months with lotions, lotion baths. Less baths. More baths. No scented thing anywhere.
Combined with his sensitive tummy and the fact that the one time he had peanut butter, he may or may not have had a reaction... our pediatrician recommended that we visit the allergy department at the Children's Hospital here in DC.
We're so lucky to have one of the best Children's hospitals in the nation literally half a mile from our house, and we're even luckier that we've never had to go there.
Now that Robbie has mastered the word "doctor" and I've subjected him to a life-long fear of doctors, we came out of the day with a diagnosis of allergies to dogs and peanut butters.
And a 103 degree fever.
We've had better days.
And then you realize that an allergy is just an allergy.
And the allergy clinic is co-located in the cancer clinic.
And you think a life without PBJs isn't so bad after all.
(And then his little sister vomits an eight ounce bottle of formula in your hair and you think that maybe it is just time to go to bed.)
