Hey Jakey,

So momma can protect you from hungry bears, traffic, mean people, machinery, but now she's supposed to save you from ... peanuts?

Oh, sweetie, you gave us such a scare yesterday. Dr. Stevenson had told us the day before that since you're a year old now, we can start you on peanut butter. So yesterday morning, I made a piece of toast, smeared maybe 1/2 teaspoon of pb on it, then cut the piece of toast into about 20 little tiny squares. We sat on the floor and I fed you two squares. You weren't too impressed, and just gummed the third square before spitting it out. Within two minutes, you had red blotches all around your mouth. Within five, your eyes started to swell a little and you had blotches on your legs, all over your face and forehead. I took you into the bedroom to show your daddy, and to get out of my pyjamas and get some clothes on so I could take you to the doctor. Then you projectile vomited all over the bed.

I called the doctor's office and the nurse asked if you were breathing okay (you were), then told me the doctor would call me back. Well, you got better after you fell asleep for awhile, and the doctor didn't call back until after 6 pm last night. You're fine, everything's fine, we just know now that you're allergic to peanuts.

The doctor (not Dr. Stevenson, someone named Dr. Eames) said that it will be many many years before you should even try ANY kind of nut again, and that just because you didn't die this time, it's not a sign that the next exposure to nuts won't be 10 times worse. She told me to buy lots of Benadryl and to stash it in different places, and if you start to have a reaction, give you Benadryl and head for the emergency room.

Ack, how scary is that. I feel like I should get your forehead tattooed: NO NUTS. Now how in the world am I supposed to watch EVERYTHING that you consume. Like the hummus I bought you the other day (but hadn't fed you yet, thank God), I read the ingredients today, and it said "May contain traces of peanuts or other tree nuts." WTF?!?!? Hummus?

I bought you four bottles of Benadryl today, one for the house, one for my car, one for daddy's car and one for your diaper bag. Gaaaah, it's always gonna be *something* with you, idn't it, baby.

In other news, spring must be just around the corner. I know this NOT because some jacked-up groundhog says so, but because the gawd-awful springtime plus-size clothes are on the racks now. Does ANYBODY wear that crap? Bright orange, mint green, ice blue? I certainly don't, and none of the fat chix I know certainly don't. Who designs this stuff? Who the hell sits down at a drawing board and says, fat girls will want to wear neon sherbet colors this spring. I was just trying to find a simple, plain black camp shirt. No such luck, but I had my pick of day-glo muu-muus. Hmph.

And remind me never to let the Kirby vacuum salesman in my house ever ever again. The guy knocked on my door at about 8:20 pm, and begged to demonstrate the thing to me, because his boss wouldn't let him go home until he showed it ONE more time. He said it would take 15 minutes, and he would shampoo the carpet in my front room. So, an hour and a half later, he's still showing the thing to me, meanwhile, I'm having an asthma attack because of all the vacuuming going on, and he's frickin' SHOWING me the dust by waving the dirty filters around. That's not the worst of it, of course. His manager comes in at the end of the demo and starts in with the hard sell. "Can you afford $60 a month? Everyone can afford $60 a month." After a few minutes of this happy shit, I finally shut him up by declaring, "Look, I wish I could tell you that $60 a month is no big deal. But if it WAS no big deal, I wouldn't be living in this CRAP house, now would I?" Sigh. I was embarassed, he was embarassed, we shook hands all around and they left my home. My CRAP home. How did I let them get to me like that? To voice out loud what I don't even want to admit to just myself?

Anyway, back to you, cuz it's all about you, baby. So, no swapping lunches with kids at school, okay? Oh God, you're going to be THAT kid, the geeky one at camp who's always sucking on an inhaler, wearing taped-up glasses and who's allergic to everything under the sun. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Spaz. Well, you know what? It just doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Oh, Jakey, I'm going to have to show you the Meatballs movie sometime soon. It's one of momma's favorites. "We are the CIT's so pity us. The kids are brats, the food is hideous." "You're Wudy da Wabbit. Wudy da Wabbit."

And no eating things that don't have labels. And no sitting next to kids who splash their food all over the place. And -- oh -- lots of other stuff that I can't even think of yet. Just be careful, 'kay, honey? And I'll do the same. Love ya.