Edgy Mama

I’m a bit given to hyperbolic hyperchondria, although it’s not often me I’m fearful for, but the kids. When my boy came home from school on Monday looking like he was suffering from adolescent acne (at 6 years old) I guessed it was impetigo from a bloody nostril wound he’s been picking at for days. It is impetigo (common childhood bacterial infection) but I’m convinced that, despite oral antibiotics and the liberal application of antibiotic ointments, it will soon morph into either flesh-eating bacteria or a blood infection. Mainly because I didn’t follow the Mommy rules and harangue him constantly about not picking at the scab on his nose. There’s a reason Moms tell kids not to pick at themselves. That reason is flesh-eating bacteria.

5n other news, the flu, she is a-raging. My boy’s best friend is suffering mightily from the virus, and now I’m petrified that not only will both my kids be downed by it, but it will be the new flu pandemic, resistant to anti-virals and genetically mutated so the shot can’t touch it (despite my not giving them shots this year, for the first time in years). See, if you break the Mommy rules, you pay.

So today I’m home with the boy, who feels fine incidentally. I’m carefully watching the healing sores on his face and awaiting the first sniffle. I’m not writing. Except here.

Mostly, I’m hoping someone, somewhere, is having a less paranoid, more productive day than I.